


Lonely Boy

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing, Teen Angst, overstim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam never expects to find another best friend when Andy leaves town. He never expects to only have that new best friend for the holidays, either. Then again, Liam never expects a lot of things—including a love that lasts longer than a summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2006 ~ Liam is 13, Louis is 14

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by THAT One Direction song (Summer Love). Title taken from the Black Keys song of the same name. I've been told by some that this should also come with a kiss!pairing warning so: liam/danielle, liam/zayn, liam/louis, liam/harry, liam/niall, liam/dan, liam/tom, louis/hannah, louis/stan, louis/eleanor, zayn/harry, niall/demi – yep, think that covers it! MASSIVE thank you to my beta S and to N for reminding me what periods and possessive indicators are. Also thanks to the one who holds my hand and pushes me to get things done, E – who I write and dedicate everything to forever. Z, G and B for all the reasons that I love them and H for the Liam picspams. Huge thanks to the **1d_bigbang** mods for all the hassle a certain N and I put them through and for hosting this!
> 
> Amazing mix by **catchmelike** [HERE](http://catchmelike.livejournal.com/1660942.html#t13015822)

**2006** ~ _Liam is 13, Louis is 14_

 

Liam’s life is over. He’s only thirteen, but his life is most definitely over. It’s the beginning of summer and usually, every other summer that he can remember, he’d be bouncing out of bed by now and running down the stairs, skipping out the front with a quick “see ya” to his mum and meeting his best mate next door. Excited faces and heads full of ideas to plan a near two months of adventure ahead of them.

But this summer he’s not. Liam’s lying in his bed and feeling all sorts of sorry for himself and a little bit angry, too, because this year he hasn’t got anyone to run downstairs to. There’s no one to sneak an ice lolly out to at six a.m. even though it’s really bad for their teeth but Andy has a sweet tooth. There’s no one to have to duck out of a headlock or tackle in retaliation from the previous morning because Andy isn’t there. He’s not been there for a week now, and Liam isn’t moping.

He isn’t.

His mother let him have the last week off school so he and Andy could do all the stupid things they could in avoidance of packing Andy’s bedroom into three little boxes. They’d let loose the little frogs they’d found the month before when they’d been exploring at the park and had researched at the library how to care for because Liam’s parent’s wouldn’t let him have any other pets (one turtle was enough, apparently) so Andy’d kept them in a tank in his dad’s shed. They’d ridden their bikes as far as they were allowed—and then a little further, because Andy was always pushing Liam to break the rules. They’d camped in Liam’s back yard the same way they’d always done, and Liam had _not_ cried when Andy had told him they’d be best friends forever.

He definitely hadn’t got choked up and he definitely hadn’t seen Andy’s eyes looking a bit glassy, either, when they’d hugged goodbye the next morning before Andy’s car had driven away.

So he isn’t moping. Liam just has nothing to look forward to, is all. It isn’t as if he doesn’t have other friends; he isn’t the least popular boy in their year, by any means. There’s Maz and Aiden, and even Cher isn’t too bad. Andy was loud, though, Andy was loud and funny (sort of) and brash and people either liked him or hated him, but he always had Liam’s back and Liam liked knowing there was someone to always be on his side. The thing is that Maz and Aiden and Cher aren’t exactly Liam’s mates as much as they had been Andy’s, and Liam never really hangs out with them without Andy, so the thought of ringing any of them up just to go to the beach for the day or something doesn’t really seem like something Liam can do.

His bed is lovely and he has his comic books and his Toy Story DVDs, and if he gets _really_ bored his dad has offered to take him out on the boat for the day. Liam has thanked his dad politely but the thought of going out at three in the morning isn’t exactly something Liam is interested in, not on his summer hols. Not during a time when he’s supposed to be having all sorts of fun, and getting into mischief and maybe lazing about, instead of the study and the running and the dreams of an Olympic future, are things he could be doing.

Should be doing.

Bloody government and bloody job losses and bloody Andy’s family making more money renting out their house in the summer than living there at all.

Liam sighs and rolls over, looking out at the perfect blue sky and hating that Andy isn’t around to yell up at his window to come out (no matter how hard Liam tries to hear). What Liam _does_ end up hearing is the sound of a car and then doors closing. It’s too close to be the house across the way (and Mrs. Fletcher never has visitors, anyway), so that means it has to be next door—and Mrs McGinty is in hospital, so no one there, which leaves the house to the left. Andy’s old house.

Liam slows his breathing and listens hard as voices fill the air. Girls voices.

“Just great,” Liam whispers to himself, because all he needs is another girl around the place. He has _two_ of his own, thank you very much. Not that his sisters are annoying or nasty or anything—Ruth he has a lot of fun with, being closer in age and all, and Nicola’s doing her GCSEs so he never really has much to do with her anymore. But he just—he’s just hoped that whoever rented the place out for the summer would at least have someone new for Liam to talk to. A mate, even if it was only for a short time, just to get him through till school when he could just fall back into the fold of the people who know him, if not best, then close enough.

Now completely in a funk, Liam rolls onto his stomach, closes his eyes, and wonders if he can actually sleep the entire summer break away.

% % %

Turns out he can’t.

He’s woken the next morning (after blatantly refusing to come downstairs for food and only leaving his room when his bladder is fit to burst) by the soft voice of his father telling him to get up. It’s the voice his father uses when no isn’t really an answer that will be acceptable, so Liam does. He dons his warmest knit jumpers and a few shirts underneath as well as his wellies that pinch a little, but it’s okay, they just don’t have the extra for a new pair for Liam and it’s not like he goes out that often with his father anyway. Not with school and the extracurricular stuff he gets up to (his favourite being track and his least being the drama club thing, but that was always Andy’s forte; Liam will drop it when school starts up again).

His dad is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, a toasted sandwich and a travel mug in hand that he passes to Liam with a smile as they head out to the car with nary a word said between them. It’s nice like this. As much as Liam isn’t overly fond of being near dragged from his bed at half two in the morning, he _is_ grateful for the extra time with his dad because his dad works _hard_ and Liam feels like his only answer to that is to study just the same amount. He wants to make his dad proud, wants him to smile that big smile of his and look up from the paper when Liam comes in the door in the afternoon and can tell from the simple “All right, son?” that his dad is pleased as punch with how hard Liam is trying with his life.

Liam may only be thirteen but he’s got a good understanding of what little to no education means in this tourist trap of a town, and he wants more. He already knows he’s not the flashest at anything moderately scholarly; he’s awful at English, spelling is hard for some reason, and maths is so-so. But get him out on the track or in the chorus for choir at church every Sunday and, well, that’s a different story altogether. Liam can _feel_ that he’s meant for more than serving chips or working as hard as his dad has all his life on a boat, breaking his back for a few fish. He just hasn’t figured out what that is yet—but he’s only thirteen, time for that will come later.

So he plasters a happier look on his face, hoping his dad won’t take offence at the fact that it’s not completely genuine, and clicks his seatbelt on, settling in for a day of not so much adventure but doing _something_ instead.

% % %

Liam’s back hurts and his hands are chapped and he’s dead certain he’s got the world’s worst sunburn starting to prickle hot and tender across the back of his neck and his nose and cheeks. It was a good day out on the boat. He helped with the crates and he got water for the men when they asked and his dad even let him _steer_ for a while today, so there’s that. He feels tired but wound up at the same time, because everyone was in a good mood out on the water. The sky was clear and the fish were plentiful for a change, and his dad threw a bit of money Liam’s way when they’d docked and told him he was done for the day. He wasn’t really—there was still loads to get done on deck—but the smile his father gave him and the ribbing he got from old Mr. Cowell was enough to have Liam jumping off the boat and heading up the stairs to the street above.

Liam’s smiling at strangers and ambling along the beach front. He’s got a waffle cone with a double scoop of his favourite vanilla ice cream and he’s tired, yeah, but he’s got an afternoon and a bit of change in his pocket, so. He’s a slightly different boy than the one who was wallowing in his own sweat on his bed the day before. He’d never acknowledge that it came down to his dad and a day out on the boat working, of all things, but he’s happy and he’s near forgotten that his best friend moved away forever, so Liam makes the most of it. He wanders along to the pier with the ferris wheel and walks right out to the edge where he can see nothing but the sea and hear gulls and laughter and screams that are that blend of excited and scared all at once from high above. It’s kind of nice. Liam’s standing there licking at his ice cream, all slow and careful not to let any of it drip, and he thinks that maybe the summer won’t be so bad. Maybe he can learn to like being on his own a little more than he ever did before.

The sun is finally setting when Liam starts to make his way home. His family doesn’t live too far away and he’s been out long enough now that his dad will have driven back and his mum will definitely have finished her shift at the restaurant for the day, so he’s going to just have to walk. It’s not that Liam minds, it’s a nice evening for it and yeah, he’s pretty tired, but he figures he can just sleep in in the morning. He’s about halfway there when he realises there are footsteps behind him. He’s not worried, he’s never had any trouble here in this town where most of the people know each other’s names, so he ignores it.

Well, tries to ignore it until the footsteps get closer and then they become even with his own and there’s a second shadow beside Liam’s. It’s a little weird because this person is just walking there and not saying anything. Liam doesn’t want to be rude and speed up or slow down so they pass, so he ends up just saying nothing instead. He tries not to sneak glances to his right and just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until they’ve rounded two corners and are about to go around another, and this boy (fine, he looked) is _still_ there.

“Catch the sun today, did you?”

And Liam’s footsteps falter because, well, that’s not exactly a normal question to ask someone you don’t even know, even if you’ve near followed the same person for the last three blocks.

“Pardon?”

“Your neck, mate. It’s a fair shade of red, you know.”

Liam reaches up to rub his palm lightly over where his skin feels tight and hot even without his added touch. “Yeah, guess I did.”

The other boy laughs, and it’s loud and Liam wonders if he’s taking the piss or something, but before he can think on it too much the boy is talking again.

“Yeah, well, it was bloody hot out today. Had to live on ice lollies and sips of salt water today, I did.”

Liam chances a look to his right and the boy is looking back at him, too, and Liam can see pink over the bridge of the other boy’s nose and his brown hair is fluffy in parts and clinging to his forehead, sticky wet. The boy’s eyes are very blue, made more so by the cheery colour of the skin surrounding them, and Liam thinks, _Oh, he’s a pretty one._ And it’s not that he likes boys, because Liam’s not exactly sure whether he does or doesn’t or if it’s just because he was nervous that he threw up when Danielle kissed him at Maz’s birthday party earlier this year. But Liam can appreciate that there are people in the world that are decent to look at, even if he doesn’t really think he’s one of them. There are people like Maz, with his lovely skin and warm eyes, and Cher with her pretty smile, and Andy just _knew_ how to get people to laugh, so Liam gets it. There are people like his mates, and apparently this boy falls into that category of good-looking and definitely more popular with people than Liam can ever hope to be.

“Do you like Toy Story, then?” this boy asks, and Liam is lost for a moment because weren’t they just talking about the weather like they were _old people_?

“Yeah, um. Sure?” Liam answers, a little lost with his footing because it’s an odd question to be asked completely out of context.

The other boy is nodding and pointing at Liam’s trainers, which are old but all he had apart from his wellies that he found in one of the compartments on the boat. He’d actually forgotten Maz had scribbled cartoon versions of Woody and Buzz on the toes of each. They’re near rubbed off now, worn away from all the times he’d worn them trundling through the forest with Andy on their many camping trips. They’re comfy, though, and a little roomier because the left has a hole from where his toes have pushed through.

“You do that?” the boy asks after Liam finishes looking down and before he can get a word out in reply.

Liam shakes his head, intending to say, “No, I’m not that clever,” but the boy keeps on talking.

“I’m not much of a drawer meself, failed art last term—my roses looked more like rotten tomatoes, but—well, what can you do?”

Liam shrugs, because he can remember his art class and how poorly he’d done and can commiserate completely.

“Which one would you say is your favourite, then?” the boy asks, and Liam doesn’t hesitate before answering “Woody,” because Woody is sort of a hero, in the way Liam thinks there is a distinct possibility that Batman _could_ be real. Maybe. One day.

The boy grins and nods. “Me, too! He can be boring sometimes, but I guess that’s what makes Buzz the perfect sidekick. He’s always going to be loud and a bit of a tosser, dragging Woody into things.”

Liam smiles, because as much as he doesn’t like the idea of Woody being a bore, he does realise that Woody can be a bit straitlaced and Buzz’s overexcited crazy ideas always end up okay in the end. Well, they nearly got killed by Andy’s next door neighbour, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Buzz has all the good lines, though.” The boy pauses and takes up a familiar stance. “To infinity, and beyond!” They say the last part together and Liam wonders for just a moment if this boy is actually real. He’s had imaginary friends before (a few, really) when he was younger; the doctors said he’d grow out of it, and he had. (Well, they actually grew out of Liam; he can distinctly recall the day he saw the two figments of his blessed imagination wave goodbye as they walked out his front gate together, never to be seen again.)

“Am I a bad fan right now if I can’t remember a single one of Woody’s catch phrases?” Liam says with a grin once they start walking again.

The boy shakes his head. “Nah, mate. Me, either. So, you seen that new Superman show, then?”

“Yes, what a load of crap that is,” Liam starts, and the boy nods avidly and, well, that’s where it begins, really. They discuss the pros and cons of Smallville compared to the movies that Liam loves (his dad got him into the cheesy Christopher Reeve eighties films). Then it’s Batman and how the other boy hated the one that had Arnold Schwarzenegger in it and Liam didn’t think it was so bad because it finally had Robin, and he always liked Robin. The boy laughs at him a little and Liam takes it because he’s not felt this happy and relaxed, especially around someone new, in _such_ a long time. Before he knows it they’re on Liam’s street, and he’s slowing down because he doesn’t really want to stop talking with this boy. He’s enjoyed the company and it made the walk home so much faster than by himself.

Liam can see his house now and Andy’s beside it, a variety of pink bicycles in the yard and a car big enough to fit an army—and oh yeah, girls. He’s turning, about to say something or invite this “new friend” of his over to his house, when he’s stopped physically by an armful of boy. The other boy has got his arms wrapped around a stunned Liam, squeezing tight, and then he’s off with a “Thanks for the chat, mate! I’ll see you round, yeah?” and he’s skipping through the gate—Andy’s old gate—with a wave to Liam that sort of reminds him of a salute, all at the same time.

Liam blinks and blinks because he’s not exactly the hugging type and he barely even _knows_ this boy, doesn’t even know his name, and . . . oh.

“Hey! Hey, wait,” Liam calls out, and the boy turns a few steps from the door, cheeks pink and eyes bright and he’s sweeping his fringe up from his forehead as he looks back at Liam, squinting a little in the setting sun.

“Liam, my name’s Liam,” he calls out, stuttering a little and scuffing the toes of his left shoe a little on the dirt before realising that’s the _reason_ why there’s a hole there and scraping his big toe instead.

The boy’s face lights up even more. “Well, my friends back home call me Tommo, but I have a feeling you're more of a proper name type of person, Liam,” he says, accent heavy on the first part of Liam’s name like it feels funny rolling off his tongue. “So it’s Louis to you, all right?” and he grins again, waving, and before Liam can say “Nice to meet you” or “Hey, we’re neighbours!” the boy is in the door and Liam’s alone again. He stares up at Andy’s old house and listens as a wail of squeals starts up, and it hits him then. This boy _Louis_ who he spent a good hour with this afternoon, letting himself stupidly believe he could have made a new friend, isn’t actually going to be here when school starts up again.

He’ll only be here for the summer.

Liam traipses the few steps forward to his own house and grunts as his mum calls out hello.  
He falls atop his duvet, squeezes his fists into his pillow, and tries to remember how happy he felt less than ten minutes before.

 

% % %

The next morning he’s awoken to the sound of laughter and girlish giggling and he lies there feeling a little out of place until he hears a boy’s voice rise above the rest, telling them to get inside for breakfast.

Louis.

Liam thinks about the strange conversation he had with Louis the day before, the way they sort of fell effortlessly into banter and chatter without it taking too much of an effort. Liam’s never really had that with anyone; even with Andy he’d have to censor what he thought or said aloud, because Andy had _opinions_ on anything and everything. And Andy wasn’t exactly the type to find middle ground if anyone disagreed with him. Even his supposed best friend.

Liam does miss him, though.

Liam rolls over, pulling his pillow over his head as he hides underneath it. It’s not fair that Andy had to leave and it’s not fair that this new possible friend is only here for the holidays. It’s not fair that Liam is so shit at making and keeping friends, and it’s not fair that he gets shy and can’t find the words to speak properly when he’s faced with situations he’s not entirely comfortable with. It’s not Liam’s fault that he’s awkward. He tries. Really. He’s forced himself to go to school dances with Maz because Maz loves to dance. He made his feet walk the entire way to Danielle’s house for her thirteenth birthday just because she smiled at him when she pressed the invite into his hand. He’d even gone without Andy because Danielle made it clear she wasn’t fond of his mate. He can do things on his own. Has done them when he has to, and it was pretty easy with Louis yesterday. He didn’t really have to try at all to get to carry on the conversation; Louis _had_ talked through it all, was pushy, really. So maybe Louis liked talking to Liam that afternoon. He _had_ said he’d see him around.

Which is the thought that he needs to get him rolling out of bed and headed toward the bathroom to get ready for the day. He might not be able to make friends easily but he _did_ enjoy the little company he had with Louis the day before—and he’s got nothing else to lose, so why not?

He bounds down the stairs, feeling a little better than he had the previous morning. He ignores the way his mum’s eyes light up and a small smile pulls at the corner of her lips as he kisses her cheek on the way out the front door, banana in hand. He can hear them before he sees anyone, girlish giggles and a squeal followed by a lower tone that sounds authoritative. As he turns out his front gate and walls along the short fence line, Liam can make out where Louis is bent down on one knee, two evenly statured blonde girls in front of him. Each is using one hand to rub at her eyes while Louis clasps their other hands in his much larger grip, and both have bottom lips trembling.

Liam can’t hear what Louis is saying, but the girls nod their heads and then he’s wrapping his arms around them both and it’s the kind of lovely older brother thing that makes Liam miss his sisters.

Then he remembers how annoying it can be when Ruth gets on her high horse about Liam taking too long in the loo or Nicola yells at him to turn his music down while she studies, and—well, that’s the end of that.

They break apart and the little girls hold hands, skipping towards the front door as Louis stands up. Liam pauses with his hand on the gate. Louis turns, and when he meets Liam’s eyes he smiles and it’s a proper big smile that Liam can see meets the bright blue of his eyes, and it makes Liam smile, too.

“Hey, mate! Was hoping you’d be around today,” Louis says as he walks along the cracked concrete path, dodging the bits that are near crumbled to nothing and where chunks of grass poke through that shouldn’t on his way to where Liam’s still standing on the other side of the fence.

“Summer hols,” Liam says by way of explanation, fingertips stretching the small hole at the bottom of his shirt as Louis brushes his fringe out of his face and behind his ear. Louis makes him feel nervous for no apparent reason—well, except that he’s new and Liam doesn’t really know him. And then Liam is never great with new people, so.

“Believe me, I’d be in the same boat if I were back home. So, young Liam,” Louis says, jumping over the fence with one hand resting on the brick pillar instead of simply walking through the gate Liam’s standing at. “I’m free of the sisters all day and I do believe I saw a roller coaster on one of those piers at the beach. What do you say we see how many times we can ride without either one of us throwing our guts up, shall we?”

Liam laughs and shakes his head because he loves the coaster, has ridden it so many times he can’t even keep count, and Andy hated it so he hasn’t been on forever. This makes his friendship with Louis even somewhat better than he thought and he nods, walking fast to catch up to Louis who is already headed down the road, backwards with this half-smile on his face that Liam has decided is going to get him in trouble before the holidays are out.

“Record is twenty-three and that was on a day when I had a cold and was just getting over tonsillitis. Reckon you can last that long?”

And Louis’ grin deepens as he turns to walk the right way, nudging Liam with his shoulder.

“Mate, I think we can double that.”

% % %

And that’s how Liam’s summer starts. What started out being what Liam thought could possibly be the worst holiday of his life so far has turned out to be one of the greatest. After that first day he and Louis have become inseparable, sleeping at each other’s houses or in a tent in the yard or even once at a party Maz threw toward the end and invited Liam, and of course Louis went, too. It isn’t weird. Isn’t strange that Liam took somebody new, and it should have been strange how easily Louis fits in with the group of friends Liam has come to realise are actually that—Liam’s friends—even more so with the absence of Andy. Louis is bright and fun and in your face and has a laugh that makes everyone laugh with him.

Everyone loves Louis.

Liam’s sisters love Louis. Liam’s dad loves Louis (though he was banned from coming on the boat after he near cost them a day’s load of fish by leaning on one of the levers that keeps the water levels up in the holds). Liam’s mum loves Louis; she even likes Louis’ mum, too, which is great considering how much time Liam and Louis spend together. A fact that means Louis’ mum lost her head babysitter when it came to Louis’ four younger siblings.

(Liam and Louis had tried to look after the girls together one night, but after Liam woke up covered in sparkles and sticky makeup on the living room floor where previously he’d played Transformers and watched Pokemon, Jay thought her girls had traumatised Liam enough.)

Too soon it’s the last few nights before the Tomlinsons are due to head back to Doncaster. Liam and Louis have _finally_ convinced their parents they can head out on their own to camp at a little patch of forest that old Mr. Cowell owns. It’s not like they’ll be completely alone, just a little off the beaten track, and in the end it’s the fact that old Mr. Cowell will be only a ten-minute walk from the boys and that Liam’s mum has found a friend in Jay to drink Sangria with that seals the deal.

They set up their tent and make a fire, cooking up a tin of beans to share, and they eat so many roasted marshmallows that Louis ends up rolling about, whining about his stomach, on the sleeping bags they’ve laid out on the forest floor. It becomes obvious to them both once the sky starts to darken that they aren’t really going to use the tents. Not with the way the stars are shining bright and Louis’ saying he never gets to see them enough where they live at home. They tell stupid ghost stories and Louis laughs whenever Liam jumps at the suspenseful parts and Liam wrestles with Louis a bit, getting him in a choking headlock when the teasing gets too much, and then they’re lying shoulder to shoulder, breathing deep and giggling, looking at the night sky above.

 

The fire crackles quietly next to them and Liam can’t remember feeling as happy as he does. As content—as free, even, because there’s no judgement or need to watch what he says or does around Louis. He can be touchy and feely, which he’s _learned_ to be around Louis because that’s just the way Louis is. Liam doesn’t feel bad when he pulls Louis in for a hug when they meet at the fence or say goodbye, not like he would have with Andy. Liam doesn’t feel weird when Louis rests his head on Liam’s shoulder, or bad at all when Louis rolls onto his side, one hand plastered over Liam’s stomach. Andy was never big on touching, would freeze up and tell Liam no girl was ever going to look at him twice if he acted like _that_ , never saying the words exactly that Liam knew he meant.

Not that Liam thought that way about Louis. Louis was just—Louis. The boy who touched and cuddled and showed affection to family and friends like it was nothing, because it was. It was just another part of Louis, and one that Liam was going to miss the following morning when they packed up and headed back and then Louis would be in his car with his sisters and that would be that. A friendship built on a summer’s worth of adventure, gone—all because Andy’s family had to rent out their house and the Tomlinsons were only here for the season before they left and the house became empty once more and Liam’s heart did a little, too.

“Have I told you, Liam,” Louis says, drawing out the start of Liam’s name like he started doing once he realised Liam was okay with it. “Have I told you that I actually hold a certificate for my penmanship from year three?”

Liam, who’s learned by now that Louis is full of strange and wonderful _random_ little facts, shakes his head a little, shuffling a little to his side so Louis can rest his head further onto Liam’s chest.

“I do. I have fantastic lettering. Amazing, really. And you know, dearest Liam James Payne, that when you put these things called letters close together you can form words?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You don’t say?”

He squeaks a little afterward, jostling Louis’ head a little because the bastard is faster than lightning, attacking one of Liam’s nipples with a quick pinch. “I just mean I can write letters. Stamps are way cheaper than phone calls and our dial-up connection is shit, but I can write.” Louis says this starting out so clear and sure, but by the end his voice has dropped to almost a whisper. It’s almost as if he’s nervous—not that Liam would know what that looks like on Louis because he hasn’t seen it once in the whole time he’s known Louis over the summer.

“I can write, too. I’m crap at spelling, so you’d have to deal with that,” Liam says, in the same tone because it feels like something. Feels like neither of them want to let go of a great friendship they’ve formed, and Liam loves that Louis brought it up first. He doesn’t want Louis to leave but who knows, maybe the next summer they could meet up here again or maybe Liam’s mum could take him and his sisters on holiday to Doncaster—though from Louis’ description they’d have nothing to do there, nothing to lure his mum there with anyway.

“You’re my best friend, Louis,” Liam says without censoring his words as much as he wants to so his thoughts pass through his lips unbidden. He’s wanted to say it for a while now because Louis _is_ just that. He’s wormed his way into Liam’s heart with his jokes and his loud, unforgiving personality, and Liam feels like he’s known Louis forever and even if he hasn’t, he sort of wants to.

Louis’ hand grips Liam’s shirt hard and it’s like he’s trying to hug him just by pressing his head into Liam’s shoulder. Liam leans the side of his head on Louis’ and Louis hums before answering in the smallest voice, “You're mine, too.”


	2. 2007 ~ Liam is 14, Louis is 15

**2007** ~ _Liam is 14, Louis is 15_

 

It’s ten thirty-two and they aren’t here yet. It’s ten thirty two and Liam is pacing from one side to the other of the front window and watching down the street for a familiar sedan. It’s ten thirty-two and Louis had told him that his mum liked to leave early—the girls asleep in the car—so they should _be_ here by now and every minute that ticks past is a minute of their holiday time missed out on. It’s ten thirty-two and Liam’s mum is chuckling in the kitchen, just about to put a tray of biscuits in the oven, and Liam’s muttering under his breath for her to shut up.

The clock shifts again as he stares at it on his return circuit at the window and a whole other minute has passed and there’s no sign of the Tomlinsons. This is why he asked his mum if they could maybe get him a mobile phone for his birthday—he was fourteen, he could be responsible! But the fish hadn’t been the best this season and Nicola was off to university, so she’d got the phone and Liam had a new pair of wellies and a backpack for school. It’s fine—really—but Louis’ stepdad bought him one, and Louis called the house a few times because Lou had a job and could afford the extra charges. Louis is fifteen now and in the times they’ve written (which is a lot more than Liam had thought they would ) he’s talked nonstop about how busy his life has become with the few hours cash in hand in the kitchen at his local football club and the babysitting he picked up extra from the single mum who lives next door.

Louis’ life sounds a lot more exciting than Liam’s has been over the year that’s passed. It bugged him at the start—Louis talking about parties he had gone to but not saying too much, just enough that Liam knew that Louis liked the taste of beer and vodka chasers after it. Liam was born with one kidney that worked and another that just wasn’t right—cons of being born three weeks early—and is advised at every yearly checkup that alcohol just wouldn’t be the best for him. Not that he’s drunk anything yet—a sip of beer from his dad on the odd occasion but that’s always out of sight of his mother’s watchful eye. The most exciting thing Liam has done this year is sneak out with Aiden and Cher to watch this band that Cher is obsessed with perform in town, and that was mostly because Aiden was trying to get into her pants.

But it’s ten thirty-four now and Louis will be here soon enough and then Liam’s holidays can _really_ begin and he can forget about how boring his life is for a moment and focus on having fun instead. It should be weird how excited he is for Louis’ return, but something changed last summer and it wasn’t just the fact that he’d met Louis; because he’s met a few new people at school over the year, but none of them add up to the friendship he’s built with Louis. Distance and stupid letters (that at the beginning Liam had near fretted over his spelling enough to make him walk with the letter up to his mum to have her check it and decidedly thought better of it at the last second because—well, they were his thoughts and they were private) has done nothing to dampen it—possibly only made their connection even stronger.

“Are you still wearing a hole in my carpet, young man?” Liam’s mum’s voice calls from the kitchen, and he stops and sort of hesitates on the next step because, yes, he can even see where his footsteps have created a pattern in the wool underfoot.

“They _are_ coming, you know. I talked with Jay yesterday. Mark was packing the car in the afternoon and they were leaving at eight this morning. Probably stopped off for breakfast on the way, love,” she says, and Liam nods because she’s right. They probably had to stop somewhere at some stage because, well, a car full of girls (toilet breaks), and it was a bit of a drive from Doncaster to Blackpool, especially if you hit traffic, and with it being the first week of the holidays they were bound to. Well, that’s what Liam’s dad said the night before when he put his hand over Liam’s on the side of the sofa where Liam had been tapping his fingers incessantly as they attempted to watch the cricket.

“Why don’t you do something to take your mind off it? Your room could probably do with a vacuum.”

Liam groans and rolls his eyes, turning toward the kitchen because “Mum, you know my room is clean, it’s cleaner than Nicola’s and she doesn’t even _live_ here anymore!”

“Are you saying your sister is a slob, Liam?”

“No, i’m just—Mum!” Liam whines, and he hates whining but she’s talking about cleaning, now?

“Well, there’s always the floor you're walking on, young man. This house doesn’t clean itself, you know,” she says, face peeking out from the doorframe, white flour mixed into her fringe, and Liam would laugh—because she sort of looks like Rogue in X-Men—but he’s not entirely sure if the face his mum has on is one he can tease right now.

“But—” he starts, and there’s a line between her brows now and he can’t argue with that. “Fine,” he says as non-petulantly as he can, because it’s his mum and he loves her and she does a _lot_ for him, but—really? Louis will be here any minute and if he starts vacuuming in here she’s only going to want him to do all the rooms downstairs and then the staircase and probably the hall and the rest. He’ll probably miss Louis arriving and then he’ll have to stay and mop the kitchen, too, because she’s making these shortbread biscuits _for_ Louis more than for anyone else (even his mum fell a little in love with Louis last year). It’s not fair, is what it is. Not fair at all.

Which is what Liam is mumbling quietly as he attempts to pull out the bloody hoover from the cupboard under the stairs that obviously Ruth put away last because she _never_ puts it away properly, always jams the damn thing in and then struggles to shut the door on it. He’s not one to get angry often, not even one to get annoyed by little things really, but _come on_ , this is his first week of summer and this is Louis who he hasn’t seen since the last, and life is just not fair.

He’s put together the hose and now he’s on his knees amongst the dust bunnies at the back of the cupboard, cursing Ruth and her ability to pull the damn thing apart instead of just folding it up properly. Of course she’d lose the one part he actually _needs_ to do the floor, it’s just the head after all. He’s most definitely having words with her when she comes back from her mate’s place in a week’s time. There might even have to be a raised voice on his part.

“Already on your knees ready to worship at my feet, are we? I knew we were mates and you liked me and all, but really.”

Liam jumps up so fast at the sound of Louis’ voice that he forgets exactly where he is and smacks the back of his head on the ceiling. He turns and Louis is there looking exactly the same down to his cut-off jean shorts and his bare feet and a tan that he probably shouldn’t have considering he doesn’t live by the beach like Liam does. His blue eyes are smiling and Liam near launches himself at Louis, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him into a hug so tight they actually fall onto the floor. Louis makes an exaggerated _oof_ sound but hugs Liam back just as hard. They stay there for a minute, Liam grinning into the soft skin of Louis’ neck and Louis patting at Liam’s back until Louis whispers, “Missed you, mate,” and Liam says, “Me too” just as softly.

“As much as I love getting to know the feel of your floor on my back, you’re kind of heavy, Liam,” Louis says finally, and Liam feels his face flush because _he’s lying on Louis_. Which, yeah, they are handsy and touchy-feely—well, they were the year before—but lying on a friend? That’s a bit different.

Liam pushes himself up and off Louis before offering a hand and then Louis is bouncing up off the floor on the balls of his feet, pulling Liam into a hug again—this time with those added back pats that Liam’s more used to from Maz when they play footie at school and get the ball past that arsehole Devlin who claims he has scouts from Sheffield United out looking at him.

Tosser.

“Mum!” Liam shouts, because he knows if he goes in there she’ll see Louis (and obviously she hasn’t already or she’d be talking his ear off). “Louis’ here and we’re off, all right?”

He bites his lip a little because he _did_ say he’d hoover and he’s not one to disobey his mother—white lies about the few times he covered for Cher and Aiden, sure (because they abuse his weakness for their big brown-eyed puppy-dog looks and, well, he never can properly say no to anyone).

“Louis’ here? Why didn’t you say! The biscuits are just about ready to come out of the oven and I’ve got that—”

They don’t hear the rest of what Liam’s mum is saying because the moment Liam finishes saying they’re off Louis grabs his hand and tugs him toward the front door. They’re running and laughing, hands held tight and outstretched as Louis takes the lead, heading out into the street and down the road toward the beach. They make it about four streets down before Louis stops, lets go of Liam’s hand, and bends over double with a mix of being out of breath and laughing hard. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Liam to join in, though without the out of breath part—he is the third fastest sprinter at school but he’s best at the long distance stuff. Liam’s mum doesn’t want him to know, but he’s heard the coach talking to his parents about training him up proper for the Olympics one day. Liam doesn’t even like to think about that sort of possibility. Not for someone like him. He’s just . . . Liam . . . isn’t he?

“Oh mate, you should have seen your face!” Louis says with a slight wheeze, and Liam grins at him, stepping close to pat Louis on the back.

“Well, a little warning next time you drag me through the house would be all right, Lou!” He grins a little harder when his nickname for Louis slips out; such closeness in a friendship that's survived mostly through words written but unspoken still makes Liam a little giddy. He hasn't made a new friend, or had the opportunity to do so since nursery school, until Louis came along.

“I thought you’d be used to quick starts, what with your track and all,” Louis says, with a nod down the road, and Liam shrugs back as they continue at a much slower pace.

“Yeah, but usually there’s a loud noise and some ‘ready, sets’ before we do much more than that. And I told you, I’m not very good at sprinting.”

“I remember—you’re all about long distance running,” Louis says in a voice that’s remarkably like the tone the coach uses with Danny Zuko in Grease, which Louis made Liam rent and watch over the Christmas break when Liam had admitted he’d never seen it before. It was alright, Liam could see the appeal in the catchy songs and cheesy lines, but it wasn’t until he watched it with Louis on the phone at the same time that he liked it a little more.

(Which ended with Louis having to find a paper delivery job to pay off the insane amount of charges for how long they talked _after_ the film had finished).

Liam shoves Louis with his shoulder and Louis shoves back. They giggle some more and then there’s more good-natured shoving until Louis whispers, “Ready, set,” and holds his arm in front of Liam before he takes off with Liam cursing and running to catch up.

Their first day at the beach is mostly swimming and lying around in the sun because it’s bloody hot out but the water is freezing (Louis complains—a lot). They don’t talk about much but it’s only because they don’t _really_ need to. They’ve kept in touch about a lot of things through the year with the odd phone call and letters that don't feel too weird to write to each other anymore. Louis puts his thoughts down on paper just as easily as he takes hold of a conversation, and Liam’s getting better with writing out the mundane because he knows Louis appreciates it. Their version of pen pals works for them—and maybe even for Liam’s English grades, because Mr. James mentioned something about being much improved when he got a B back on his Macbeth paper.

The next week is spent in much the same way: waking up, heading out to the beach, and Louis pretending he needs to catch the sun to improve his tan for the “ladies” back home. Liam rolls his eyes at that but does get a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Louis lies out on the towel, ankles crossed and head tilted back with his sunglasses-covered eyes toward the sun, propped up on his elbows. He sort of glows with a mix of sunscreen (which Liam forces him to put on because skin cancer is a _thing_ , alright) and water from their swims and he looks—well, Liam doesn’t like to put too much thought into why Louis and the word “pretty” somehow seem synonymous at the moment.

It’s the beginning of their second weekend together when Louis mentions Hannah. It’s been raining for three days straight and seeing as they can’t go out and camp, Louis’ come up with the next best thing. They’ve built a blanket fort in Nicola’s room—she’s staying at uni over the summer and her room is the biggest. It’s probably well past midnight when Louis drops Hannah’s name into the conversation. They’re full of sweets and more bloody shortbread that Liam’s mum has made for Louis—the third lot that week—and lying on their backs. Louis’ clutching at his stomach like he can rub it into submission as he eyes the last of the Liquorice Allsorts on the blanket between them. Liam had been explaining about when he and Maz caught Mr James and Miss Henderson “in flagrante delicto” or whatever it was (Maz was good at second languages; Liam, not so much) in one of the staff rooms after school, when Louis just drops this information on him like a bomb.

“I’m seeing someone,” he says, and Liam’s grin falls a little from when he’d been explaining the look on Miss Flack’s face when Maz brought up how red looked nice on her (they’d seen a flash of her red lacy knickers before they’d double-timed it out of the area). 

“You are?” Liam says after swallowing the tightness in his throat. His face feels warm and maybe he should have offered the last toffee to Louis because his stomach doesn’t feel too great, either.

“Yeah,” Louis says, and Liam can see with just the light from their torches that Louis’ cheeks have gone all pink.

“Remember how I told you I’d been going to a lot of parties this year? Like, for some reason Stan and I got popular—and I still firmly believe it’s the fact that Stan’s dad runs the local and Stan can nick us all manner of liquor without his dad noticing—well, not too much.”

Liam nods because, yeah, Louis had mentioned the parties and how drunk he got on blackberry schnapps and about some other friend of his trying to be Mary Poppins, jumping off the top of the slide at the park near Lou’s. He remembers Louis advising him against drinking beer and _then_ peach schnapps because “you will throw up a rainbow, Liam, and it burns when it comes out your nose.” He remembers saying something about it to his dad one night when he’d come home from a rough day out on the sea and done a shot of the whiskey he kept hidden from Liam’s mum before opening a can of lager. His dad had looked at him funny, head tilted, and Liam couldn’t help but tell him the story about Louis. His dad had laughed and ruffled Liam’s hair before telling him Louis had some good advice.

And that he’d kick Liam’s bloody arse if he caught him drinking anything before he turned eighteen other than the little beer he gave him.

“Well, I think we’re together. We’ve been to a couple of parties now and I see her some lunch breaks and we went to the pictures once.”

“That definitely sounds like you’re together.” Liam interrupts because Louis’ cheeks have gone all pink and he’s not looking at Liam anymore, he’s not looking at anything really. Louis’ eyes aren’t exactly focused, just skipping over where Nicola’s old Powerpuff Girls duvet cover is the roof of their fort.

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, it’s just—I know we are, it’s just—it’s a little weird to talk to you about.”

This does nothing to make Liam’s stomach feel any better. It’s like there’s this knot growing there with every word Louis says. It’s sort of normal—he gets this way when Aiden goes on and on about Cher or when Maz discusses Miss Henderson’s legs after they’ve had music together. Maybe it’s because he has no one to talk about like this. Well—there was Danielle, but she patted him on the cheek and told him he’d figure it out when he asked her to the pictures before school broke up. He couldn’t figure out then what she meant and he still can’t now.

“It’s not weird! It’s just me,” Liam says with the worst possible attempt at keeping his tone normal, but instead it’s all high-pitched and tight. Liam rolls onto his back and scrunches the blanket tight underneath him till his fist aches.

“Yeah, but I don’t know,” Louis says with a sigh, and Liam can see from the corner of his eye that Louis’ rolled onto his back now, tilting his head to the side so his eyes are all big and blue and staring at Liam. “So I’m seeing her, then. I guess I’m her boyfriend. I mean, we haven’t talked about it or anything. We don’t really do that,” Louis says, like there's hidden meaning to those last few words.

Liam's jaw pops as he clenches down hard on his teeth for a moment because he’s unsure of what Louis expects him to say. He swallows at the dryness in his mouth before he speaks.

“You don’t talk? What exactly _do_ you do, then?”

“We kind of sleep together.”

Liam turns to look at Louis because “Sleep? Aren’t you a little old for sleepovers?”

Louis snorts, tilting his head to the side, and his entire face has gone red. “Liam, there’s little sleeping to be done, if you know what I mean.”

Liam feels his own face heat and maybe they shouldn’t have eaten the leftover curry in the fridge because his chest hurts—heartburn is a bitch and Liam’s too lazy to go down and get a little warm milk to ease it right now. Not when Louis is saying what Liam thinks he’s saying.

“You’re not, you know, then,” he says, and Louis shrinks in on himself—if that’s even possible—his chin ducking down to his neck.

“A virgin? Nope. Can definitely cross that one off the list.” He says it fast and with a little giggle at the end. It’s almost as if he’s embarrassed and Liam knows exactly how that feels. Maybe Louis was right, maybe they shouldn’t be talking about this. But they’re mates, right? And mates do this type of thing. He hasn’t had these chats with Maz or Aiden or even Devlin, so it’s not as if Liam has a lot of background to work with, but he’ll try. Because it’s Louis and he’s sort of Liam’s best friend. Even if they’ve only had one summer and a year full of letters and a few phone calls—Liam knows what Louis means to him.

“Oh,” is all he can say, and they lie there in silence for a few minutes, barely a sound in the background. Or maybe it’s just because all Liam _can_ hear is his breathing.

“What—what was it like?” Liam finally asks, because this is what friends do—he’s seen enough movies to know that at the very least.

“Um, fast? It’s really different when you—you know,” Louis says with a wanking hand motion, and Liam feels his face grow even hotter. “She’d done it before and she was nice, I mean. We kissed a lot and she blew me first so I’d last longer or something,” Louis says, and Liam can’t look at him anymore. Turns his head to stare at the green Powerpuff Girl intensely because she’s his favourite. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“I didn’t go down on her or anything, I fingered her a little and it was tight and really wet and I had no idea what I was doing but she said it was good and she told me what to do, so . . . .” Louis takes this deep breath and when Liam steals a look to the side, Louis’ shifted back to staring at the roof. ”We were safe and everything—I’m not gonna be stupid like Pete, who got Mandy up the duff over the Christmas hols,” he laughs, and Liam joins in as best he can because Louis has had Sex and a Blow Job and Liam’s had a kiss, and even that was with the barest amount of tongue. He’s always known there was a year between them but it’s only now that Liam feels the gap. It sucks and it’s made him think about Sex and Blow Jobs with capital letters, so he knows he’s overreacting. But if there was anything to ever _react_ to, it would have to be this, right?

“It gets better, though. Like, the more you . . . you know? It gets better and it feels—it feels really . . . .” Louis pauses. Liam sneaks another glance and Louis has this faraway look now, his smile wide and soft. “It’s really good. Aces, even.”

They’re quiet again and Liam can’t think of a thing to say. “Great for you, mate” seems too impersonal, “Congrats” too formal.

“Wow,” is what he ends up saying, and he hates himself the moment the word leaves his lips.

“Yeah, wow,” Louis returns, and Liam thinks maybe it was the right thing to say after all. He rubs at his chest and the ache there lessens a little. Maybe the garlic naan bread was a bad idea.

“What’s her name?” Liam asks after silence fills the space between them again, a lot less tense than before, and Louis answers with a questionable hum at which Liam repeats himself.

“Oh, right. Hannah. Her name’s Hannah,” and Liam scrunches up his nose and hopes Louis isn’t looking. Which he isn’t, when Liam slides his eyes across the small space again. Louis _is_ , however, smiling closed-mouth, and his eyes—his eyes are big and bright even with the torches glowing above them and Liam thinks to himself, maybe this is what love looks like.

“Hannah,” Liam says, and Louis sighs and it’s just—it’s got to be something they ate that makes Liam bite on the inside of his cheek against the hurt that’s roiling in his stomach.

“Hannah,” Louis says, all breathless, and Liam closes his eyes and hopes whatever it is will be gone by morning.

% % %

 

The funny feeling in his chest that Liam keeps putting down to heartburn doesn’t disappear the next day, or the one after. His mum suffers from the same thing whenever they splash out and have Chinese and she has tablets for those odd occasions. It’s getting so Liam’s actually considered nicking a few to make the ache go away, but he doesn’t, he’s not that type of boy. The word _Hannah_ has become a new part of his vocabulary as he has to listen to Louis go on and on and _on_ about her for the next week straight. Liam considers himself a considerate listener, but it’s like now Louis has started talking about her it’s all he wants to do. Which is lovely. He obviously really likes this girl and he hasn’t had many people to talk about her with. Mainly because Stan can’t be relied on when he’s had a few and Louis doesn’t want Hannah getting a bad name or anything—even if it’s only Louis that she’s having Sex with.

It’s fine. Really. It’s fine that when they go to the pictures one afternoon Louis mentions that he’s seen nearly everything showing already, with Hannah. It’s fine, when they’re watching TV one afternoon with Lou’s sisters because their parents are having a few quiet ones next door, that all Louis does is talk about how Hannah thinks _Neighbours_ is far superior to _Home and Away_. It’s fine when they go out with Liam’s dad on the boat for a day (not for work—Liam’s dad learned his lesson about Louis and netting the year before) and Louis whispers things about Hannah’s body to Liam because they spot some naked French girls lying out on a yacht that they go past. If Liam vomits over the back of the boat that afternoon it’s just because the sea is choppy. There’s nothing else to it.

It’s a little annoying. But he can handle it. He’s still spending all this time with Louis, and when he’s _not_ talking about Hannah they talk about shit like they did last summer and Louis still makes him laugh like no one else can. Liam’s happy; not entirely, but he’s making do. He’ll probably be that annoying in return when he finds someone of his own that he likes enough to gush over, so he doesn’t complain. He does, however, find it completely odd one morning when he wakes up to the sound of squeals from the girls next door—not unusual—and Louis’ tones added to the mix. He rolls out of bed, rubbing at his bare stomach and remembering just in time not to scratch any lower than that because his curtains are open and Mrs. Fletcher is a little skeevy and might possibly see him in just his pants. Mrs. Tomlinson’s car is in the drive, which isn’t unusual, but Mrs— _“Johanna—it’s Johanna, darling! Mrs. Tomlinson is my mother-in-law”_ —isn’t usually up this early for anyone. The car doors open and close and Johanna climbs out, but all the attention is on the passenger door.

Now, Liam’s seen his fair share of fairy tales; he has two older sisters, so of course he knows who Prince Charming is and the attributes of every perfect match in animated history. So when this boy stands up and Louis’ sisters shift back and Louis himself gets out of the road from hugging this boy, Liam might actually gasp out loud. If there ever was a personification of tall, dark, and handsome, this boy would tick every box and then some. Even from his window Liam can see this boy’s pretty—pretty like how Liam determined Louis to be within seconds of meeting him. He has a lovely smile and his eyes look dark from this distance, and his black hair is all over the place in a gust of wind that comes out of nowhere. It’d be funny if this was some sort of movie where the heroine falls in love at first sight or swoons when the handsome object of her affections runs his fingers through his hair, but this is Liam, and Liam’s not a heroine—or a girl, even, for that matter. But this boy is pretty and Liam can acknowledge that. He can also acknowledge that he woke up with a boner like he does most mornings.

(He won’t acknowledge that his dick sort of twitches at the sight of this boy bending over to pick up his bag. Nope. Not at all.)

% % %

His name is Zayn.

His name is Zayn, and in the entire year that Louis and Liam have been talking, Louis has never mentioned him once. Apparently—as Louis tells him later that morning after Liam has had a shower and wanked off to nothing in particular—Zayn just moved to town about a month before school ended and he lives next door to Louis and he’s “Just great, Liam! You’re gonna love him!”

And as much as Liam is a little hesitant around people he doesn’t know, finds it hard normally to talk to people who are new to him, he doesn’t have that trouble with Zayn. Zayn is the opposite of Louis. He’s quiet and soft spoken where Louis is loud and brash. He’s dark (all black trousers and hoodies even in this weather) whereas Louis is bright (striped shirts and his cut-off jean shorts and white, _white_ Toms when he wears shoes at all). How they’re even friends Liam hasn’t a clue, but he does know that he ends up liking Zayn. Almost as much as he likes Louis—but not quite.

Zayn’s come up for a few weeks while his parents visit family in Ireland. Zayn hadn’t wanted to travel so the Tomlinsons offered to let him come and stay with them a while. Zayn doesn’t take too long to come out of his shell around Liam;. Liam’s almost the same when it comes to being confident enough to talk, too, so it’s a good thing for the both of them that Louis is there. In the end, Zayn and Liam find common ground in old-school Archie comics and art, which Louis tries to take an interest in but finds himself unable to join in the conversation too much. (Liam’s gran always took him to any art shows visiting town and he gets decent grades in his art class, so he can wax a little philosophic about the blue period Picasso had and the subtleties of Dali.) It’s okay, though, because Hannah calls and Louis calls Hannah, so Liam finds himself with Zayn a lot more often than with Zayn _and_ Louis. It should upset him—having his Louis time halved because of a girl and because of this friend of Louis’—but in the end it doesn’t (too much), because Zayn’s actually quite fun to be around.

So much fun that Zayn extends his stay and he’s there for the rest of summer and Liam and Louis get to show him around town and to all the places they enjoy together. And when Louis is too busy discussing whatever it is he discusses with Hannah, Liam and Zayn head out and Liam discovers he’ll say and do a lot of stupid things to get to see Zayn’s smile and hear his laugh, which he holds close to his chest because it’s another friendship, he thinks, being made here. Toward the end of summer they go to a party that Maz throws and it’s fun and they all dance together and when Louis suggests they play some American teen game he saw in a movie and Liam gets locked in a cupboard with Danielle for seven minutes, she kisses him properly. There’s definitely tongue this time because Danielle tastes like those apple sweets he favors, and something more tart, too, which is probably the alcohol behind it. He doesn’t mind the kissing, it’s nice really, and he counts himself lucky when the doors are thrown open after what feels like an eternity because she’s _just_ put his hands over her boobs.

He catches Louis’ eyes for a second, his mouth open in what Liam thinks could be shock (it would echo his own, after all), and then Louis doubles over laughing as the small crowd around them all whoop it up. Danielle giggles and smacks her lips against Liam’s cheek before her girl friends drag her away and Liam feels that ugly hurt feeling in his stomach rise again like it hasn’t since—well, since Zayn arrived really, and he thinks that maybe you _can_ get contact drunk from a kiss because he feels like he needs to hurl. He doesn’t run—but doesn’t exactly walk—through the crowd, brushing past Louis as he goes, making for the door to the outside. He nods at the pats on his back from well-meaning lads and the slight jeers from the girls and makes it outside without too much hassle.

It’s cooler out than in, and Liam sits out on the front stairs, the concrete pillar at his back still warm from the afternoon sun. He isn’t drunk, only had a beer and two shots of whatever it was that Louis gave him, so it’s probably not liquor making his stomach all swirly. All he can see when he closes his eyes are Dani’s own brown ones wide and bright as she leaned in and how thick her lashes were and how soft her lips were against his. Then the eyes morph to this blue colour and it’s wrong, so Liam blinks and blinks and rubs at his belly where everything is really starting to roll about. It’s probably the fish and chips they had before they came—Louis was hungry and said it would better to line their stomachs for drinking later so they ate, and they didn’t have the fish Liam liked so he had to go with something different. That’s all it is. It’s not the fact that he sort of feels like Louis was laughing _at_ him - not with - a few seconds before that has anything to do with anything.

“Hey.” Liam turns to the voice at his side just as Zayn plops down, all dark grey hoodie and black skinny jeans and his high tops that he never gets out of. Liam’s wondered more often than not why Zayn even came out to Blackpool during the summer. It’s not like he’s come swimming with them once, no matter how many times they’ve offered and Liam’s reassured him that it’s perfectly—for the most part—safe. Liam gets it, though. Sees the friendship that Louis and Zayn have even if it’s like they’re polar opposites, and understands completely how you can need to be around Louis. It’s a need Liam’s familiar with himself.

“Hey,” Liam says in return as Zayn bumps shoulders with him.

“You all right?” Zayn asks, lighting up a smoke he’s pulled from a pack hidden in the depths of his hoodie’s pockets. Zayn has to hide them from Johanna and mostly doesn’t do this in front of Liam as he’s not that keen on the smell. Louis will steal one or two, however, depending on how drunk he’s got from the Tia Maria they’ve stolen from Johanna on the odd occasion and drunk in the blanket fort that’s still up and a little more crowded now Zayn’s about.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, glancing down at his cigarette after rushing out this big plume of smoke that disappears fast into the night air. “Sorry, I can—”

“No,” Liam interrupts, “it’s okay. I just meant from, you know, all the people in there.”

“Ahh.” Zayn nods, sucking in a quick drag followed by a longer one. He takes his time breathing the smoke out, its long white tendrils drifting out and above them until Liam can’t see them amongst the stars anymore.

They sit there quietly with familiar shouts and music beats coming from inside and it’s nice. It’s nice that Liam can sit here with Zayn and not feel like he has to make awkward conversation. It’s nice that they can sit and just be.

“So how was it, then?” Zayn asks, and Liam tilts his head and raises his brows as he looks back at Zayn.

“You and that bird—what’s her name, Nelly?”

Liam laughs and ignores how his face feels warm as he scuffs his shoe on the edge of the stair. “Dani, not Nelly.”

“Oh.” Zayn smiles, flicking the excess ash from his fingertips. “Dani, then. How was it—you know, kissing her?”

“Fine,” Liam says, rubbing at his cheek with one hand and hoping the light from inside isn’t enough for Zayn to see how his skin is sure to be flushed with colour.

Zayn bumps his shoulder again. “Fine?”

“More than fine. I don’t know—it was nice?” and Liam knows he’s failing at this. Boys don’t say it was “nice” when they get asked by a mate about the quality of the snog they just received. Not even boys who are as gentlemanly as Liam considers himself and he thought Zayn was, too.

“Nice? Really, Li?” and Liam groans and leans his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t know. It was _nice!_ Her lips were soft and the tongue thing was fine and I didn’t actually do anything with her tits, she just put my hands there when the door opened. Oh god, why are we even talking about this? Can we stop? Can we talk about football or something instead?”

“Sure we can,” Zayn says softly, breathing in another lungful of smoke before he starts again. “If you didn’t want to do it, you know, you didn’t have to, Li,” and there’s that shortening of his name that Zayn gave him on the first day they met and Louis got annoyed because he’d never called Liam that, even when Liam called him Lou. It wasn’t anything, wasn’t a big deal, but Louis seemed to think it was judging by how he sulked for most of the afternoon until Liam tickled the pout from his face.

Liam shrugs and cups his chin with his hands, looking out into the empty street. “I know. I did. Danielle is lovely and we’ve kissed before and she’s always nice to me. Not many people make time for me around here,” he finishes, and hopes Zayn won’t have heard the catch in his throat over a few of those last words.

Zayn puts his arm around Liam and Liam leans into his touch. Liam’s found that Zayn is nearly as friendly as Louis when it comes to hugs and general handsy-ness, so this is nothing new. What is new is how Zayn looks, all dark eyes and pouty lips, and Liam thinks he might be able to count Zayn’s lashes, he’s that close.

“I can’t understand why—I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to kiss you,” Zayn says, and then his eyes are flicking down in the direction of Liam’s mouth. His tongue peeks out from between his lips as he stares at Liam and Liam swallows hard because he’s a little nervous. He shouldn’t be, this is just Zayn, and yeah, Zayn is close and they’re talking about kissing and he can’t stop from looking at Zayn’s lips either—all red and glossy from where he’s licked them—and he can smell tobacco and more bitterness from the beer he’s seen Zayn drink because Zayn’s breath is washing over his face.

“Can I?” Zayn says, a fingertip on Liam’s chin as he guides Liam’s face toward his own. Liam nods without thinking too much because maybe he might like this? It’s a night for trying new things, after all, and then Zayn is leaning in closer and his lips meet Liam’s and oh.

_Oh._

Zayn’s hand tightens on Liam’s shoulder and Liam’s falls down from where he’d left it resting on his knees and he’s grasping at Zayn’s thigh instead. Zayn tilts his head a little and their mouths slot together and this is far better than _nice_. It’s way more than _fine_ , this is. This is his stomach not in knots but sort of flipping in a good way. There’s this buzz under his skin and Liam doesn’t think he wants kissing Zayn to end. He thinks that maybe this is what Louis meant about kissing Hannah and the Sex and the Blow Jobs and how Louis’ smile changes when he talks about and to Hannah. The Hannah Smile, as Liam’s mind has called it ever since Louis ducking out to call her on his mobile or answer a text from her became a thing.

Then Liam can’t stop thinking about Louis’ lips and how different they look when he really grins and how he pouts when Liam says “no” to something—anything. How he drools a little in his sleep and how they look when they say Liam’s name, and he pulls back, breathing hard.

It’s another _oh_ moment, and Liam is—Liam’s—Liam just—“I think I’m gay?”

Zayn giggles and brushes his thumb over Liam’s cheek from where he still happened to be cupping Liam’s face.

“I know I am.”

“Right,” Liam says, and he smiles because Zayn is smiling at him still, even when he stilled their snogging. “Wow,” he says, and he feels all wobbly because it answers so many, _many_ questions he’s recently had about himself.

“Wow,” Zayn returns, pressing their foreheads together, and Liam giggles as Zayn rubs the tips of their noses against each other.

“Just not gay for me, I think,” Zayn says, and it’s a little sad but mostly like he’s just stating a fact.

“No,” Liam says, his mind filled with Louis’ smile and Louis’ voice and how lovely Louis’ bum is and how he makes Liam feel good all the time. “Maybe not.”

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Zayn says after they sit there for a while, just breathing each other in while Liam comes to terms with tonight’s kissing revelation.

“Not everyone realises who they are straight away, it can take years for some.”

And Liam nods and thinks about how he might like to kiss Zayn again and yet he also wonders how Louis would taste if he kissed him and maybe he should just go find Danielle and test this theory that kissing a boy makes him _feel_ things. He thinks about those things and then he thinks about Louis and Hannah and maybe Louis already knows who he is and maybe Liam shouldn’t think about Louis like that at all.

% % %

“I don’t mind, you know,” Zayn says as he brushes Liam’s hair out of his eyes, looking down at him from where he’s lying atop Liam’s chest, his legs between Liam’s. It’s the end of the holidays and Louis is being forced to pack his things—last minute, as is becoming a usual occurrence—so Zayn and Liam are in the blanket fort alone. Alone and snogging and rubbing up against each other lightly and trying not to knock down the last side of the fort that remains standing. Liam’s definitely trying to keep his hips under control because this kissing thing is fantastic but he’s not entirely sure that rubbing one out on a mate he might never see again is really how he wants to end his summer. That and Louis could come back at any moment and they haven’t exactly told Louis what’s changed between him and Zayn. It’s not that they’re keeping it a secret—but they sort of are because Liam’s just discovered who he is himself and Zayn’s family are quite religious so he’s not come out, either. Neither of them think Louis would care or tattle, but it’s just—this is just for them.

Liam nips at Zayn’s chin, careful not to leave a mark, and licks his way down Zayn’s neck where he’s tilted his head to the side to give Liam more skin to explore. Zayn’s quite sensitive there, as Liam has discovered.

“Don’t mind what?” he asks between pressing kisses to Zayn’s skin and skirting his teeth over Zayn’s collarbone, which is on show from where Liam unzipped his hoodie and pulled across his shirt earlier.

Zayn makes a muffled moan, probably pursing his lips to prevent tell tale sounds escaping. “That it’s not me. That I’m not the one you really want.”

Liam stills but doesn’t move his head to look at Zayn, doesn’t say anything because he thought he was doing a good job of hiding what he felt. He likes Zayn. Loves kissing him quite a bit. It just isn’t—enough. His eyes aren’t the right shade of blue and his hair is too thick and his teeth aren’t as pointy as Liam thinks they should be. Wants them to be.

He isn’t Louis.


	3. 2008 ~ Liam is 15, Louis is 16

**2008** ~ _Liam is 15, Louis is 16_

  
The day Niall and his family move into what Liam refers to as “The Tomlinson Summer Home” (not by choice; Louis thought it was hilarious), Liam falls out his bedroom window. It’s not his finest moment, to say the least. Ruth even hears about it all the way over in Prague where she’s doing some exchange student _thing_ and laughs at him for three minutes of the three and a _half_ minute phone call she wastes her money on, the first thirty seconds being Liam just saying hello. It’s two weeks before school lets out and Liam’s at his desk writing Louis a letter which he hopes he’ll get an answer to—unlike the previous three. It’s not that they haven’t talked—there’ve been a couple of phone calls here and there in the last few months—but there’s definitely been a bit of distance. Liam puts it down to Louis doing his GCSEs and, well, there’s Hannah, of course.

So when Liam hears the sound of car doors slamming and general loud voices from the house next door, the first person who comes to mind is Lou. He gets up and pulls back the curtains but there’s a moving van in the road so he can’t get a clear view. There’d been a rumor that Andy’s house was up for sale, but none of the realtors locally knew of anything and it wasn’t as if Liam was in touch with Andy anymore, so nothing was known for sure. Now the van is there and Liam can’t see anyone really from behind his desk, so instead of just going downstairs to look, Liam decides to climb onto his desk instead. The thing is, the desk isn’t exactly stable—Louis and Liam were wrestling the previous summer and knocked one of the legs a bit too hard, resulting in a bang-up fix-it job with electrical tape they’d found in Liam’s dad’s shed. 

Liam, however, only seems to remember this when he has set his full weight on the thing and pushed open his window as far as possible. He’s leaning out and is _just_ about in the right spot to see who it is making all the noise coming around the side of the truck when he hears a faint creaking. That’s all the warning he gets before he remembers in a flash just how bad a job they did fixing his desk and then he’s falling head-first into the prize-winning roses his mother grows. Grew.

He’s lying there slightly dazed when this blond-haired cherubic face is there above him—two of them, even—as Liam blinks and blinks and hopes this isn’t heaven. The face (now thankfully just one again) near cracks from how hard he’s smiling, and then with a noticeably thick irish accent he says, “Ya all right there, mate?” Liam closes his eyes, only to open them again and see the face still there, so yeah, maybe this is real and it’s not heaven and _wow_ does his arm hurt.

“Ouch?” is what Liam manages to get out, and then the face is laughing a little again. Liam isn’t sure whether it’s with or at him so he just keeps staring up at this face with blue eyes that remind him of someone else but are different enough that his mind doesn’t stray too far down that particular path.

“Think you’ve really fucked your arm there. It looks well bent, nearly as bad as these flowers you landed on.” The boy holds his hand out and Liam reaches out to take it with his bad hand, immediately cringing because _fuck_ , it hurts, and yes, it’s definitely not looking normal. The skin around his wrist is already swelling and there’s a definite wrong angle where his hand should be joined to the rest of his arm. This instantly makes Liam’s gut turn and his head spin and the ground seems like a safe place to be right now.

“I’m just—I’m going to lie here,” he says, closing his eyes to stop the world from spinning and biting hard on his lip because his arm really is starting to throb now.

“Don’t really think that’s a good idea, mate,” the voice says, and it sounds a little concerned but Liam doesn’t really have too much time to ponder on that, what with passing out and all.

It turns out Niall and his family are the ones that have moved into Andy’s old house and Louis’ summertime home. There’s some sort of story there behind the lack of a For Sale sign and the quick influx of Niall’s family (but Liam isn’t one to believe the gossip about deals gone wrong and money being owed to Irish Mafia types, especially seeing that Niall’s dad is a police sergeant, of all things). Niall is also the one to raise the alarm with Liam’s mum that he’s crushed her garden and, oh, probably busted his arm as well. Liam comes around a little when Niall appears with his mum in tow, giggling and telling her a story of a time when he broke his own arm years back trying to impress a girl on a skateboard. He’d never even learned to skate but for some reason he just figured he’d played enough Tony Hawke on Playstation to pick up a few moves and he ended up both breaking his elbow and giving himself a hairline fracture in his collarbone as well. It doesn’t really make Liam’s mum feel any better about finding her only son still squashed into her Queen Elizabeths.

Liam is pretty much stuck with Niall after that. He joins them on the trip to the hospital and he makes Liam laugh with more anecdotes about accidents he’s had and ones that usually involve his older brother. Liam’s not laughed this much in an age, and when he leaves the A&E it’s with a bright green cast around his wrist and a new friend in tow. Liam doesn’t really have that much time to feel sorry for himself. It’s nearly the summer holidays and he’s got to be in this cast for six weeks, which takes him right into the middle of Louis being here. That is, if Louis comes at all considering Niall lives in the house his family used to rent and Liam hasn’t heard from him for a while. Liam puts it all down to Louis’ and his GCSEs, and Liam himself has been busy, but the weeks move on and when all he’s heard from Louis is that he’s definitely coming, Liam might get a little pouty.

His arm aches and is itchy and Louis _promised_ he was still coming the last time they talked, but it’s two weeks and a little more into the summer break and nothing. Liam can’t really write to him or text because of _course_ it was the hand he needs for both those things that he broke. There could also be the fact that whenever he tries to have a wank he somehow knocks his cast or does something that makes pain part of the pleasure, but on the side of that fine line where it still feels good, which gets him grumpy most mornings (and nights). So yeah, he can’t get off, and there’s his new mate Niall who smiles wide and laughs loud and is just a ray of fucking sunshine that whiney Liam is too nice to avoid and he gets Liam’s mind off his problems. He makes Liam happy and pokes fun when Liam gets too down on himself and really, as Liam sits at one of the little outdoor tables with the perfect view of Niall and his attempts at wooing women, he can appreciate having Niall as a distraction.

It’s love at first sight for Niall when Liam brings him down to one of the best and busiest ice cream parlors on the boardwalk. Liam knows of Demi from that stupid drama class he started when Andy was still around (and still hasn’t managed to get out of; Liam has a feeling it’s because he can sing a little and they need his “vocal range” for musicals). She’s a nice enough girl, all big hair and big smiles and big . . . other things that Liam now knows he has no interest in. Liam’s pretty sure that Demi is just as into Niall as his mate is into her, but as Niall is always saying, “It’s all about the chase.” Apparently Demi is the mouse and Niall is the cat (but from where Liam is sitting, it’s mostly the opposite). 

It’s afternoon and the sun is setting, and Liam’s ice cream is mostly melted in its little cup as he watches Niall grin and Demi laugh, fluttering her eyelashes and swinging her long hair about in what can only be the most unsanitary way possible considering she’s _right there_ beside the waffle cones (and is also the reason he’s stopped eating out of them, really). He’s a little irritated because Niall promised today was going to be about them and doing stupid shit like the dodgem cars (though they hurt Liam’s wrist with every bump) and the roller coaster (which Ed, who mans the bloody thing and has known Liam since birth, wouldn’t let him on because of the “risk”). They’d gone on the ferris wheel for a laugh, and it _was_ a laugh with Niall commenting on every single shirt he could see down from their great height and what they’d do if they somehow fell to their doom.

Then they were walking toward home and Niall got Liam talking about Christian Bale in _The Dark Knight_ and he didn’t realise _why_ , when they’d argued about this subject before, until they were walking into the shop and he’d already ordered. Maybe the definition for what Niall and Demi were was more fox and hound-related because even Liam had to admit this move was pretty sly on Niall’s part. As much as Liam likes Niall—because he does, and he counts it as a win that he’s made another new friend and one that’s local for a change—he really hates the fact that it’s summer and Louis isn’t here. It’s weird sitting here eating ice cream without Louis dipping his spoon into Liam’s bowl and eating out of it. It’s weird going to the beach and not having to remind anyone about sunscreen, because Niall is so white he never gets out of his shirt without the highest factor spread over his skin. Liam just misses what he was looking forward to; it doesn’t help that his arm is aching this afternoon, so the pout on his face must be truly epic.

He’s sitting there considering whether he could actually be rude enough to walk home without saying goodbye to Niall when suddenly his eyes are covered and he can’t see.

“Guess who?” comes this voice, and Liam’s whole attitude changes in seconds because he _knows_ who.

He’s up and out of the chair, grabbing Louis in a hug so tight he can feel Louis’ rib cage shift under his arms, but he doesn’t really think about it too much. Not with Louis being here and his hair, which is much longer than before, tickling Liam’s cheek as he presses his nose into the soft, warm skin of Louis’ neck and _breathes_. He pulls back fast and his smile finds the side of Louis’ face with a loud, wet smack of a kiss that shocks him into stillness.

It’s a bit much. They’ve always been a little touchy-feely before, but usually goodbyes and hellos are hugs, not kisses, even as lame as this one is. Louis doesn’t say anything, just grabs Liam’s face and licks his cheek, and Liam has to focus on breathing because—Louis’ tongue was just on his face. Louis pulls back, giving the opposite cheek a little slap with his hand, smiling all white teeth and those bright blue eyes and _Christ_ how Liam’s missed him.

“Missed me, have you?” Louis asks, his hand falling to Liam’s shoulder where he squeezes just right.

Liam can’t help the beaming smile that his entire face has turned into in return. “Whatever do you mean? I don’t even know who you are!”

Louis frowns and quickly pinches Liam’s nipple in a move Liam should be used to, because it’s Louis’ go-to trick, but it’s been a year so his reflexes are a little slow. “You take that back, you take that back right now, Liam Payne! I watched you touch your first boob, I know where exactly it is you hid Ruth’s diary when I made you steal it for us to read the first year I was here! I know you talk in your sleep and fart louder than anyone I’ve ever known when you’ve had too much soda. I _know_ you!”

“One time! One time, and I apologised!” Liam says, and feels blood rush to his cheeks because even two years on it’s still embarrassing that he did that in front of Louis. Not abnormal, he knows this—he has Niall for a friend who makes obscene bodily sounds and scores them on a scale of lame to fecking awesome.

“That you did. So, not that I’m complaining, but are you going to let me go anytime soon?” Louis tilts his head to the side, looking down, and when Liam follows his gaze he notices his hands are wrapped around Louis’ waist, sitting over the curve of his hips.

He jumps back fast, almost as if he’s been branded by an iron, and his hands feel hot like they were burned. Maybe they were. Louis’ been this untouchable, wantable _thing_ since he figured things out last summer and now here Louis is, not even returned for a minute and Liam’s already all over him. This does not bode well for hiding his feelings. Not at all.

Especially when Louis is still unavailable. Still decidedly dating a girl.

Liam joins in Louis’ giggles, and of course that’s when the sun breaks through the little cloud cover they’d had for a moment and Louis is all lit up. His hair is a darker version of how it finishes up at the end of summer and it’s longer this time, his fringe still there and swept to the side but covering his head a bit like the bowl cut Liam’s mum tried to give Ruth when she was ten. His eyes are all squinty in the corners from his proper smile, but the blue is there that filters into Liam’s dreams and into that art class he had which even Maz had commented on. He’s still wearing those bloody cut-off jean shorts—Liam hates to think how many Louis must own to wear them each and every summer. He’s got that _Welcome to Blackpool_ shirt on that he thought was ironic and Liam thought was incredibly embarrassing, that Louis bought the first year he came, but it fits a little tighter than it used to. The yellow is all washed out and the stick-on of the ferris wheel is faded and coming away in places. But it’s not the quality or lack thereof of the shirt that makes Liam unable to tear his eyes away. It’s how it _fits_. It’s tight around Louis’ arms and chest and it only bulges out a little where Louis’ belly is. Liam knows Louis hates his little belly but it’s the best place for pokes and prods from Liam’s fingers to get Louis giggling.

Christ, he just looks so _fit_.

This does not bode well for Liam’s crush control. Not at all.

He stops his little freak-out long enough to paste a smile on his face and grab at Louis’ hand; he can do this, he can be the friend he was and is proper.

“Let me introduce you to my mate Niall, otherwise known as The Tomlinson Summer House stealer.”

% % %

Things get a lot better—or brighter—for Liam once Louis arrives. He’s not alone, he’s come up with Zayn’s family this time. Louis’ mum couldn’t get time off work and the Maliks had heard so much about Blackpool and how Zayn had enjoyed it, so they decided to come up instead. Zayn’s family is just as loud as the Tomlinsons—nearly as many sisters as Louis has, and they make Liam feel welcome almost instantly. They love Niall just as much because he reminds Zayn’s mum of her home, which endears Niall to Mrs. Malik basically as soon as Niall opens his mouth. Zayn sometimes complains it means that Niall gets his share of the extra food his mum makes, but Niall just smiles and throws a samosa or two at Zayn’s head.

It’s nice. It’s nice having this great group of friends that he actually feels comfortable with. He gets along with the people in his group at school. He hangs out with Aiden and Cher (when they’re not all over each other) and Maz and even sometimes Devlin (though he’s a right twat). But there’s something different about these boys that he sees every summer. There’s something that comes easy—like Liam doesn’t have to think about what he says or what might be used as gossip fodder in the halls that makes conversation flow and Liam not have to _think_ at all. It’s something he looks forward to, Louis and now Zayn, and it makes him even happier how they embrace Niall into the fold. Which really was never going to be a problem; Niall makes friends like it’s as easy as breathing, and he’s extremely likeable.

They stay in a lot for the first two weeks that Louis and Zayn are back—there’s not much that Liam can do while his arm is in a cast—but the _second_ he gets it off, they barely see inside anyone’s homes.

Because this year—this year Liam has his own boat.

It might not be big and it might _just_ fit the four of them, but it’s got a sail and it’s got a working rudder and it doesn’t leak (much) and it gives them freedom. It was a mix of Christmas and birthday present for Liam and he’s done nearly all the repairs on the old boat himself. It had been left mostly to rot out at Old Mr. Cowell’s farm and it took a bit of elbow grease to make it seaworthy, but it was Liam’s own so he didn’t mind. His dad helped out a little and Liam had to “work” on his dad's fishing boat for free to buy wood and things, but it was something they’d done together. Liam treasured the extra time with his dad nearly as much as he treasures the freedom that having a little skip all to himself means. Especially now with summer and the lads all around. No more being under their parents’ feet or bored down at the pier. It’s the open sea—or not out of vision of the shore, and no, just because the Isle of Man is out there doesn’t mean they have to visit it—but it’s freedom for them.

They’re out nearly every day, Liam teaching Zayn how to sail and Louis and Niall attempting to reenact that bloody scene from _Titanic_ at every opportunity and falling into the water more often than not. Zayn’s a little hesitant; he wears his safety vest before Liam can even mention that they need to put one on, because he’s not the strongest of swimmers. Louis and Niall have to be reminded at every opportunity, especially when they spot another boat filled with girls or are on their way back to dock and the sun is setting all purples and reds behind them.

It’s nice. It’s nice visiting every stretch of coast they can that seems to be private while they eat out of the packed lunches their parents sent with them. There’s always a great mix of foods they love and sweets, and it’s nearly always Niall’s rumbling stomach and “I’m fair starved, lads!” that becomes the reason they up anchor and sail home.

And as much as it is nice—which it is—it’s also really, _really_ hard for Liam. Hard because they’re on the beach, and being on the beach and out at sea means that shirts mostly come off because of the heat or the water, and then it’s all these toned, fit bodies lazing about on shore or mucking about in the water, and . . . well.

Louis has no tan lines.

It’s not that Liam was looking for the evidence of this, per se—not at all. But there’s only so much of Louis and Louis’ body he can ignore when it’s in his face as they wrestle in the water—Louis on Niall’s shoulders, Zayn on Liam’s—and Louis’ stomach is _right there_ at eye level. There’s only so much he can not look at when Louis asks him to sunscreen his back and Lou’s trunks have fallen so that the cleft of his arse is on show. There’s only so much perving on his best mate he can do under cover of his dark sunglasses without feeling like a loser because Louis is straight. Louis has Hannah and that’s all there is to it.

Louis _is_ fit, though, and Louis makes things so hard in more ways than one.

Liam’s not wanked this much in forever; if he hadn’t just had his wrist out of its cast he would actually think he’d strained both of them from overuse. Even getting off is difficult, though, because if Louis isn't at the Maliks’ house then he’s staying the night at Liam’s, and Liam only has one bed, and Louis has no issues with them sharing. He could use Nicola’s or Ruth’s but Louis keeps telling Liam’s mum he’s fine sharing—used to it, even. Liam’s trained his body clock to wake just that little bit earlier than Louis, who loves a good lie-in, just so he can get in the shower first and fix himself up so Louis is none the wiser. It’s frustrating and it makes him feel guilty that he thinks of Louis like this, can’t stop himself really, and it isn’t much help that he and Zayn haven’t picked up from where they left off last summer, either. So there’s not even any sort of relief there. Although the Zayn thing is completely understandable.

Liam’s talked with Zayn as much or more than he has Louis in the past year (he kicked Zayn in the shin for not giving away that he was spending the hols with them again), so Zayn knows or has guessed what Liam feels for Louis anyway. It’s good having friends who understand. Niall knows that Liam’s not into birds, and when Liam admitted to his friend that he was gay or at least thought he might be, all he got was a “Right, mate, so what do you think of Simon in Mrs Pryce’s maths class? He’s a bit fit,” and that was that. Zayn’s talked about how he sort of had a boyfriend back home, just this nice lad Danny that he’d met in his music class, and there’d been kisses and blow jobs traded but it wasn’t anything special.

So forgive Liam if he’s a little frustrated what with all the skin on show and Louis being _right there_ all the time and yet so utterly, utterly unavailable.

Liam pushes through, though. He knows that someone is out there for him and maybe it’s not Simon (who is very, _very_ straight and slightly scary what with his rugby forward build and his crewcut and the way he towers over Liam, who isn’t that short but feels it when Simon is around) but it’s someone. He just sort of wishes that it was Louis.

Louis, who on this particular day is lying beside Liam after they’ve all been swimming in this little bay area they found the first week they went out and had gone back to many times since. Louis, who Liam’s caught looking at him more than once today—a lot, really, because even Niall noticed and gave him some grief to which Louis’ only answer was “But Liam’s got _proper stomach muscles_ now. . . when did he even get those?” Liam blushed and shrugged and said he’d been working out, and God, did he feel like a tosser saying that—even if it was true.

There’d been some trouble at school early in the year, some slurs hurled Liam’s way that were quiet to start and then got a bit worse. Liam hadn’t come out or anything but he’d told Danielle and his little group of friends; but it’s high school and there’s always something to pick on someone about so Liam knew it was only a matter of time. He came home one night with a nasty cut on his cheek and a detention he shouldn’t have had (but Liam wasn’t one to name names and make things worse). His Dad had stared at him for a good five minutes in the living room before grabbing his coat and calling out to Liam’s mum that she should put their dinner in the oven—they’d be back late. He’d taken Liam to a side of town they normally avoided and through a nondescript door and into a world that Liam didn’t previously know existed.

Every night after school when he didn’t have track Liam was picked up from the gate by Sean, who was mostly arms and no neck to look at. A short drive later and a string of knocks on a wooden door that Liam still hadn’t got the hang of and it was in and three hours of right hook, uppercut, _harderfasterharderfastermore_ until Liam couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes. Simon had a glass jaw, as it turned out, and after one particularly well-placed punch Liam didn’t have any trouble at school anymore. And he didn’t have baby fat in any part of his body, either. Obviously it was the latter that Louis had picked up on, and if Liam suddenly became allergic to shirts in his mates’ company, there wasn’t anything too bad about that, now, was there?

They’d been lying there in the sun together for a good while. Niall and Zayn had wandered off to skip stones or look for driftwood for a fire or something, but that was a while ago, and Niall had a pocketfull of fruit bars so Liam knows they’ll be alone for a while. It isn’t as if he doesn’t want Niall and Zayn around, because it does make things a lot easier to pretend his feelings haven’t changed toward Louis, but in the same instance he’s really missed just having Louis to himself. It doesn’t even matter that they haven’t spoken a word since the other two boys left. It’s just the sound of their breathing and the ocean breaking on the shore and birds overhead. It’s nice. It’s quiet and calm and Liam kind of likes that he can just have this moment with Louis even it will be short-lived, knowing Niall’s attention span.

Liam’s lying on his back, sunglasses on and eyes closed, when he feels it—near jumps in the air, really, from the slightest touch of Louis’ fingers on his skin. It’s ridiculous—it’s just _Louis_ —but it’s how gentle and almost hesitant he’s being as he drags one finger across the newly formed definition that lines Liam’s belly. Liam pushes his glasses up into his hair and blinks against the sun; the movement alone stills Louis’ exploration but his finger doesn’t shift from its position inches above Liam’s belly button.

Liam looks to the side where Louis was lying down before but finds him rolled on his side now, head propped up by one hand as the other is this heat above Liam’s skin. Louis is red in the face, a red that he could probably laugh off as sunburn but Liam’s made sure Louis has kept up on his sunscreen application (he may have offered to help out a few times, but it’s what mates do, isn’t it?)

“Sorry,” Louis says, and Liam just shrugs and he can’t take his eyes from where Louis’ are big and blue and so, so wide right now. He looks a little like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, and it would be funny if it were anything else but Louis looks like this because Liam caught him touching Liam’s body.

“Thought you were asleep. I mean, not that I was waiting for you to do that or anything. Or that I’d only touch you if you were sleeping, because I’ve slept in the same bed as you and managed not to, but it’s just—you’re fit?” and he rushes all of this out and ends on what appears to be him questioning whether Liam thinks he is actually fit or not. Liam can actually feel his cock start to thicken and fill and there is going to be a _serious_ tent issue in three seconds if he’s lucky.

“It’s—it’s just, you didn’t use to look like this,” Louis says, and Liam fights to swallow any sort of moisture down because all he can see is this look of shock and interest that he’s never seen on Louis’ face before. Louis is moving his finger in slow movements down Liam’s stomach and he’s tracing the outline of every single muscle Liam’s worked hard at achieving. Liam wants to say something—anything—but Louis is just _touching_ him and is concentrating as he does so, the pink tip of his tongue poking out at the side as his eyes leave Liam’s and follow where his finger slides. Liam hopes Louis isn’t looking any further down Liam’s torso; his dick is at half-mast now and it occurs to him he should say something about it—make a joke or try and tuck himself into some sort of less embarrassing position—but he can’t. He can’t.

Louis makes this _noise_ beside him and Liam’s not sure if it’s a sigh or a moan because he’s never heard Louis make that sound before. He can’t for the life of him remember any of the noises Zayn ever made between them when they were touching a bit like this, and he wants to know what it is he’s done or is doing to make Louis make that sound again. Or something even better than it.

“You’re just so _fit_ ,” Louis says again, and this time it’s almost this breathy _thing_ that makes Liam’s stomach flip and his cheeks feel like they’re warm with more than just the sun shining down upon them. It should be weird—Louis touching him like this and Louis saying these things. It should be weird—Liam not exactly reacting and just letting Louis go and take whatever he wants. Whatever he wants, Liam will give him—it’s been that way since they met, really, but this feels like something _more_.

Louis’ fingertip is skirting the fine hairs that trail under Liam’s trunks and all Liam can think is that any second Louis will feel/touch/see how hard he’s made Liam, and no, that’s just pushing things too far. His hand moves of its own accord, grabbing at Louis’ finger and holding it tight in his fist. Louis blinks but his gaze doesn’t shift from Liam’s stomach; with the way Liam’s got Louis’ hand in his, Liam’s hoping his growing “problem” will be hidden from view.

“It’s not that good,” Liam says, finally finding his voice because this—this situation between them is getting ridiculous. He doesn’t know what to do because he feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin with how Louis is looking at him and how he’s _touching_ Liam. It’s as if he can still feel every single progression of Louis’ finger on his stomach, even though he’s holding the offending appendage in a tight grip. It’s stupid and he wants to just pull Louis down and kiss him but he can’t, he can’t because Louis isn’t his.

“Not that good?” Louis says with a laugh and drags Liam’s hand forward, placing the palm directly over the soft round of Louis’ belly.

Either Louis’ gained an uncanny ability to retain static electricity or it’s the fact that Liam’s _hand_ is on Louis’ _belly_ that makes where they’re joined feel like Liam’s being zapped by a thousand tiny stinging rays that tingle up through his body and out to his limbs. Maybe it’s because Louis has pushed Liam’s hand flat and Liam can feel how soft and—well, okay, _squishy_ Louis is there that’s causing this rush of emotions and making Liam just _feel_ different.

“This,” Louis says, pressing Liams’ hand down harder, and his skin is near fitting between Liam’s fingertips. “This is nothing compared to what you’ve got going. And I haven’t even begun to discuss your _arms_ , Liam James Payne. Who are you really and what did you do with my younger and much more normal-looking best mate?” Louis grins but he still has this look in his eyes that says so much more than the way even Liam can tell he’s trying to put a lightness and ease to the words he’s using.

He almost gets away with it. Almost. Then Liam catches how hard Louis swallows, and regains feeling in his limbs long enough to notice how Louis is shaking a little, his skin slightly clammy where he’s holding Liam’s hand hostage against Louis’ belly. It’s like Louis is nervous and he shouldn’t be—he’s the one complementing Liam, after all, and making _him_ anxious, really, so Liam can’t help what comes next. His fingers twist under Louis’ touch and he pinches at the soft squidgy bit of Louis’ tummy and it’s enough to break whatever tension has built between them, because wrestling and pinching is what they _do_.

Louis laughs—all bright and loud and a noise Liam’s heard hundreds of times—before he’s rolling on top of Liam. He’s grabbing here and there and Liam’s having his nipple twisted and there are bite marks on his shoulder, but he’s giving Louis as good as he’s getting, pinching at the skin Louis was complaining about and then he’s got his knees raised, trapping Louis’ thigh between them so he can pin Louis on his back instead. It works for a moment but then Liam realises how hard he’s got and exactly how easy it would be to rock forward and he’d press right up against Louis and then Louis would know and. No.

His break in concentration is enough to give Louis the upper hand. He rolls them over so Liam’s on his back again, his wrists above his head and tight in Louis’ grip. Louis is leaning over him, his knees bracketing Liam’s body, and he’s just so _close_. Liam can smell the salt of their earlier escapades in the water and the Liquorice Allsorts Louis was chewing on and it’s just _Louis_ and he’s right above Liam.

His smile is wide and his fringe, all bleached at the tips to the lightest brown, is falling into his eyes and he looks. He looks.

“I win,” Louis says, tone filled with laughter and a little bit of haughtiness. “Still stronger than you, Li,” and Liam can’t breathe.

He can’t speak, he can’t swallow, he can’t do anything but look, because Louis really is beautiful. His eyes are so big and blue and he looks so happy and his lips are just pouting perfectly as he breathes in these little rushed puffs because _obviously_ their little wrestling match took more out of him than he’d ever admit. He’s just so lovely to look at and he’s Liam’s best friend and Liam wants. Christ, how he _wants_.

Louis isn’t helping the matter much, either, with the way he’s grinning down at Liam until he’s not anymore. He’s just staring now, those blue eyes drilling into Liam’s own until they flicker down to where Liam’s had to lick at his lips because his mouth is dry from all the things he knows he shouldn’t say. Louis lets out this tiny laugh, not even a chuckle really, more a breathy giggle, and he is _still_ staring and Liam can’t do a thing.

If it was anyone but Louis, Liam might have surged up and pressed his lips to those above him. If it was anyone but Louis, Liam might have fought a little harder and been snogging this person like mad as he rutted one out against the other’s leg. If it was anyone but Louis, he might have said something stupid like, “Kiss me, you fool.” The difference is that it _is_ Louis. Louis who has Hannah, and Hannah is who Louis kisses. Hannah is who Louis makes all these secret sounds with and Hannah who he gets off. Not Liam. Not any boy at all. Louis doesn’t and couldn’t want Liam like that, but his eyes and the way he’s looking at Liam make Liam wonder. Make Liam think that maybe, if he just—maybe if he just . . . .

“Heads up!”

Niall. Fucking Niall.

There’s this squeal from Louis and even Liam ends up with a chunk of something cold, wet, and slimy that Niall has apparently thrown on them.

Whatever it was between them is broken then. Louis blinks and Liam wonders if it’s the first time he’s done that since pinning Liam down. He can’t remember—but he wasn’t blinking much either, what with how he was cataloguing every tiny move of Louis’ face and his breathing and everything that Louis did. Just for later. Later when he was on his own and could truly wallow in a stupid crush that if he didn’t find a cure for would possibly mean the end of a friendship he truly valued.

“You are dead man walking, Horan!” Louis yells and smiles at Liam all soft and it’s in complete contrast to the way he called out to Niall seconds before. Louis presses a quick smack of his lips on Liam’s forehead and then is up and off and gone, chasing Niall down to the water and throwing chunks of the seaweed at Niall’s blindingly white back.

Liam lies there, trying to figure out what just went on and maybe find a way to breathe again, when he feels Zayn settle into the space beside him. He can smell Zayn’s cigarettes and there’s a little bit of a tinge of something slightly more herbal to it and _oh_ , that’s why he and Niall buggered off for longer than Liam had anticipated. He drags himself upright, sitting with his knees pulled up tight to his chest, and watches Niall and Louis chase each other in and out of the waves with less throwing of slimy substances and more splashing of water than anything else.

He must sigh or something because then Zayn’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder and he’s pulling Liam in to his side and Liam shifts easily against his friend. It’s a move that feels very much like that night a summer ago when Liam figured out that he liked kissing boys, wanted to kiss boys and also one boy in particular. He wonders for a moment if this is Zayn picking up where they left off, but Zayn hasn’t shifted any further than how he’s sort of side-hugging Liam now so he figures it’s probably not. He leans into Zayn’s touch, though, because he’s confused about what just happened and the way Louis looked at him and why Louis touched him like that at all. It’s nice to have Zayn there for that, even if they aren’t talking and Liam isn’t entirely sure he can talk to Zayn about it—not that Zayn wouldn’t listen and try to help, but Liam isn’t exactly able to process it himself, let alone say it out loud.

It must be obvious what—or who—he’s thinking about, because after a few moments of watching Niall dunk a chortling Louis under the water time and time again, Zayn’s hand comes up to ruffle Liam’s hair. And it’s stupid, it’s not even like Zayn has said a word, but that one move proves how well Zayn knows what Liam’s like and maybe who Liam likes and maybe how he can’t have _him_ at all.


	4. 2009 ~ Liam is 16, Louis is 17

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Louis, do you wanna watch a movie?” Liam tries again after silence fills the air while he sits in front of the TV, five of his favourite and newest DVDs in hand, trying to decide what would be more enticing for his friend to agree on. It’s a tough choice: _Iron Man_ , _The Incredible Hulk_ , and _Wall-E_ are his top three. Though with the latter Liam will surely cry because he does _every_ time he’s seen it, even in the movies with Niall and Demi snogging obscenely loud through it from beginning to end. _Iron Man_ really is the obvious choice. It’s far superior in many regards, especially with how _fit_ Robert Downey Jr is in it, and he’s shirtless a _lot_. Then again, that provides its own set of problems because RDJ is hot and Louis is here and Liam’s been great so far this summer not thinking about Louis in _that_ way but, he is sixteen, after all, and unfortunate boners have a tendency of popping up at inconvenient moments. And this summer Liam’s trying not to have any of those.

He wrinkles his brow and purses his lips at one side because it really is a tough choice and that’s when he realises that Louis still hasn’t answered him. He knows Louis is here because he never heard him leave, and they’ve only just settled into Liam’s room after having to spend the obligatory half an hour with Liam’s mum and catch-ups over cups of tea and biscuits because his mum is in love with Louis. Sometimes Liam thinks she’d like to adopt him or something, the way that woman carries on around Liam’s best friend.

“Louis?” Liam turns and holds up the two he’s pretty happy to watch for the afternoon before Liam’s mum calls them down for dinner. And really, Liam is a glutton for punishment with giving Louis the option between _Iron Man_ and _Wall-E_. He’ll either cry or be horny and neither is exactly the best of emotional reactions around his mate—but the _Hulk_ remake really isn’t up to snuff.

“What do you think?” he asks, and when he _still_ gets silence, Liam parts the DVDs and finally gets a glimpse at Louis.

He’s sitting on the edge of Liam’s bed where he first came in and plonked himself, and it’s as if he hasn’t even moved to breathe. He’s still all hunched in over himself as he has been most of the holiday so far and it’s worrying, because Liam’s never seen Louis like this before, all quiet and small, and it’s strange. But Louis has been rather quiet and reserved in his letters this year—even more so in the latter half, but Liam put it down to extra course work and shit so he left it. He was busy himself, having a slightly better time at school now that everyone knew he was out, and he had the support of his parents and friends and more.

“More” being Dan, and Dan being this boy Liam met at a huge party (which was more like a rave) that Niall held out at Old Mr Cowell’s. Liam never got an answer about where any of the sound system or lights or booze and other _stuff_ came from; Niall just tapped his nose and led Liam to Dan. Dan was a mate of Niall’s older brother Greg who went to university in Lancaster. He played in a band and had these lovely blue eyes and short reddish brown hair that looked even better after Liam had had his hands in it. He didn’t smile too much, but when he did it made each and every time Liam got him to—whether it be from something he said or did—completely worth it. Dan wasn’t around a lot, just the school hols and a few weeks here and there when Greg was in town; but every time he was, he made a point of catching up with Liam.

It wasn’t like they were an “item” or anything; he’d just take Liam out in his car and maybe they’d drive to some place quiet and talk. Then maybe the talking would lead to smoking a little weed (that Liam should have realised was this sweet undertone below the cloud of deodorant Dan always wore). And maybe it would lead to kissing and perhaps it also led to Liam giving and receiving his first ever blow job. It might also have led to Liam figuring out that he really liked having his hair played with during sex. Liam’d been letting it grow since the previous summer and by the end of winter it was this long, curly, shaggy _mess_ that his mother was forever on about cutting, until his father brought out the pictures of himself with an afro twice the size of Liam’s hair in the seventies when they’d been dating and she’s never said a thing since. Liam might have caught her sighing when she had to buy “ _more_ conditioner than when the bloody girls lived here,” but she never mentioned cutting it out loud again.

So there was Dan and how Liam discovered he liked sucking cock and that his hair being pulled was also a _thing_ , but that ended a few months back. Mostly because Liam was kind of over being this friend-with-benefits whenever Dan was in town. And also because Dan finally realised just how old Liam was and that if anyone had found out about what they’d got up to in Dan’s old Citroën, Niall’s dad might have had to become involved and the establishment he worked for, even.

So Liam’s had an interesting year—to say the least. Yet he still looks forward to the summer and to Louis and to having his best mate more than just a phone call or email away. The thing is the moment Louis arrived—without Zayn this year, his family had moved to Bradford for his Dad’s work and they just couldn’t make it—he’s been. . . different. He’s still Louis, quick of wit and sharp of tongue and gorgeous blue eyes and a tan that should have been impossible to be natural—yet there it is. There’s was just something _off_ about him, and no matter how hard or slyly Liam tries to question Lou about it, Louis finds a way to change the subject or just shrugs his shoulders and refuses to say another word. It’s really rather draining and it’s probably a lot selfish that Liam just wants to be able to fix it because it’s impinging on his holiday and Louis time.

Just like now. Louis is still sitting there, completely silent, and Liam is still holding up the two different DVDs for him to choose from and Louis is just staring at Liam. Louis blinks and his eyes look all soft for a moment, then it’s gone and he’s flicking his fringe which is ridiculously long—even by Liam’s shaggy afro standards—and shrugs his shoulders.

It’s enough to drive a sane man barmy, and Liam isn’t even a proper man yet so he can’t help the words when they leave his mouth. Even if he’s a little shocked by them himself.

“Do you even want to be here, Lou? Because if I’m holding you up or something, you don’t have to stay. I can watch a movie on my own if there’s somewhere else you need to be.” Liam regrets saying everything the minute it all leaves his mouth in a slightly snappish and sullen tone. It is enough to bring Louis out of whatever stupor he’s in long enough for him to flinch and open his mouth in shock before snapping it closed and standing, grabbing at his phone. His movements are stiff and Liam isn’t sure if it’s anger causing it or not because he’s never seen Louis angry. They’ve never really fought ,but can this even be counted as a fight when only Liam’s made a sound?

“Lou—” Liam starts, intending to set right whatever is wrong here, but Louis doesn’t stop or spit out any sort of retort, he just walks out Liam’s bedroom door and shuts it as calmly and as quietly as possible. Liam sits there staring at the thing for far longer than he should but he just doesn’t have a clue on how to deal with this side of Louis.

He knows that Louis’ had it tough this year. His mum and Mark are in a rough patch, or are working through it or something. Liam was surprised to see how normal they looked when the Tomlinsons finally arrived a week into the summer break—Jay still all the smiles he was used to, warm hugs and comments on Liam’s still growing (and muscle-filled) body enough to have his cheeks pinking. Mark wasn’t exactly what Liam expected. This was the first time he’d seen Louis’ stepdad in two years and it was hard trying to remember what he was like before, before the dark watching eyes followed Johanna’s movements or the comments that verge on the wrong side of being spiteful and near cruelly pepper every conversation.

They’re staying in a nice big place that’s close to the beach but a bit further down the coast from Liam’s house, but Louis has the whole bungalow at the back to himself. It must be costing them a fortune, but Mark does something that pays well or has money from his family or something—Louis’ never been clear on either factor, just that they don’t have to do without much. It’s mostly why Louis always buys the silly things the boys usually get up to every summer—the rides and indulging Niall's stomach at the pier, the zoo last year, and the ungodly shirts he’d had screen-printed with a photo of Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Liam acting like wankers in it.

Liam had laughed and said he’d never wear it; Zayn had held the thing between pinched fingers with an even further pinched look on his face. And Niall? Well, Niall had tackled Louis to the ground and kissed his face so much that even Louis, who wasn’t easily embarrassed, turned a brighter shade of tomato red than Liam thought possible.

Liam's worn his as a night shirt so often this year it’s started to fade and go a little threadbare, so much so that his mother threatened to throw it out; so now he hides it in his pillowcase. Which isn't weird at all.

Liam stands, leaving the DVD,s on the floor and looks out his window onto the street below. He can just make out Louis' shape turning the corner and it makes his chest ache that he made Louis leave like he did. It's not that he wanted Louis to leave, he just wanted a reaction— _something_ other than the quiet that Louis had been since Johanna dropped him off at Liam's door. This is why Liam’s having such a hard time understanding this new, quiet, and near sullen Louis who’s arrived this year. He’s not used to having to near pull conversation like hens’ teeth from his friend. He’s not used to seeing Louis’ face with anything other than a smile or a cheeky wink in his direction. And he’s really not used to Louis spending no time with him at all. Today was the first time in a week that he’s even got Louis over; before that it was when Liam had chanced upon meeting Johanna and the girls buying milk and sandwich things the day after they’d arrived and she’d brought Liam back with her to the house. It was more a mansion, really, and Liam took his shoes off before he’d even stepped out of her car because he didn't want to dirty the perfectly raked gravel.

Liam just can't understand what it is that's making Louis act like this. All through the year he's been fine. They've called and chatted and he's heard more about Hannah than he wants but that’s tapered off over the last few months every time Liam had asked about her, being the good friend that he was. Louis would just say she was fine or good. Maybe that should have been a sign, too. Louis was head over heels for her the previous year, going on and on about the sex and how lovely she was and admitting to Liam at one stage that he thought he might even love her. That particular conversation, held in the safety of the very bed Louis had been sitting on that afternoon, was one Liam was glad they'd had under the cover of darkness and inside the relative safety of Liam's duvet cover. He'd felt ill and it only added to how much he knew he had to work on a way to _not_ pine after Louis as more than a friend because Louis is so blatantly, obviously, never going to return Liam's feelings.

Maybe it’s Liam's fault, too. He's actually had a great year. He's done really well with track and his coach actually mentioned to _him_ this time about working hard and keeping five multicoloured rings in sight for 2012. Liam just blushed and stammered but it's been in his head more often than not; and he's even talked to Paul about it down at the gym, where he still goes even if he doesn't have problems with bullies any more. He likes the way he can zone everything out and just focus on his _one, two, three_ 's and his _right, left, right, uppercut, duck, bob, weave_ dancing feet and all. Paul changed up his routine a bit and they've been working more on his core muscle strength, and even Liam is pretty damned chuffed with how his body looks. He's seen the girls at school stare and Danielle sighs a lot about what “a total waste that body is around here,” but she doesn't exactly know about Dan, either. And Dan definitely didn't think Liam's body was going to waste. It was probably why he assumed Liam was older than he was.

So Liam's been occupied with a boy who was nearly a boyfriend, and the mere whisper of an idea of him standing in front of a crowd as he takes first place with a new Olympic record in the 1500m final. He's had a lot more of a social life with Niall around; Niall is basically friends with the entire school population, so by proxy Liam’s become the same, even if he’s known these people all his life. Niall's had Demi and they've been pretty sickening with how into touching each other they are—but there's still that snark that existed between them before, except now it leads to Niall looking thoroughly well shagged at each and every opportunity. Cher and Aiden are no more and it ended pretty badly, so Liam sees Aiden more often than not because Cher is actually dating Simon and that's just weird for everyone all around. Maz has started getting into dance a bit more so everyone in Liam's life has had something this year that's kept them occupied.

Yes, the letters between him and Louis have been fewer but they have still made an effort—calling each other more often than not, and Liam's family bought him a second hand computer this year so there's been email and chat, too. All Liam's had to do is help Paul out around the gym in his spare time (which he really doesn't have), and with the cash in hand he gets there he pays for the internet which means he's actually talked in real time with Louis more this year than ever before. Even then, though, you can only hide how you feel in text form through chat windows only so well and every time Liam asked Lou how he was, he'd brush it off. Maybe Liam should have been a better friend; he definitely shouldn't have snapped at Lou like he did before and now his stomach is all knotted with guilt because Lou didn't even let him apologise.

It's too late now, though. Liam knows Lou will need some time to himself or he wouldn't have left like he did—plus he'll be halfway down the street to the bus stop, probably already texting his mum to pick him up at the other end. Liam stops his staring out the window and belly-flops onto his bed instead. This could be his worst summer yet.

Liam doesn't hear from Louis the next day or the next. It's when five days go by and his texts are all unanswered and even Niall isn't getting anything from Louis that Liam calls the only other person he knows who might be able to help.

“Well, it's a little strange, but considering where his head is, mate, it's not that weird really,” Zayn says, and Liam wonders if the phone cord will stretch that little bit further so he can get a drink from the fridge. It's one of the hottest days on record and Liam wishes his parents had a cordless so he could be talking to Zayn from under the fan in the living room and not in the kitchen, where his mother has decided she can't break with tradition and has a bloody roast, of all things, in the oven _just_ because it's a Sunday. It's a million degrees in here but he's finally managed to get hold of Zayn, who’s spent his year busy with school and settling into his new town and making new friends—and finding new conquests. It's not that Zayn is a slag or anything—Liam can't even associate the word with his friend—but Zayn's out and having fun and he loves that he's been able to start new in Bradford without all the people who had known him forever in Doncaster. 

“What do you mean about his head? He's been weird, yeah? Quiet and such, but I figured that was just to do with his family,” Liam says, his fingertips just grazing the fridge door long enough for him to hate that his arms are too short at the moment to open the bloody thing.

“Yeah, there's that, but—” Liam can hear Zayn breathing in harsh—probably smoking— “have you two not talked at all?”

“Yes!” Liam answers, but it's not really a response to Zayn's question—more to the fact that he got the door open and his hands on a bottle of water that his mum always keeps slotted in between her half-empty bottle of wine and the milk. He holds the phone against his ear with his shoulder and opens the bottle, taking a few large gulps before screwing the lid back on and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wait, what did you mean by talk? Because yeah, we've done a lot of that but he's just—he's not been himself.”

Zayn sighs and Liam takes that as a sign that he should be paying attention. He was the one to call Zayn, after all. “I know you _talk_ , Li, but has he told you anything about Stan or how he broke up with Hannah just after New Year’s? You have talked about that, right?”

Liam drops the bottle of water and thankfully it's plastic so it bounces because— “No—no, he hasn't said. He hasn't said a word about any of that,” Liam says with a soft voice, falling back against the wall and sliding down till he's on the floor. It's like he's been punched and it hurts. It hurts that Louis hasn't said any of this to him—especially about Hannah. It hurts even more because Zayn knows. Zayn's not even living in the same town as Louis and he _knows_ , but Liam, who is supposedly Louis' best friend, hasn't heard a thing about it.

“He broke up with Hannah?” Liam asks, chewing on his lip. “I asked him about her a few weeks back and he said they were fine.”

“Did he _say_ 'they' or did you _hear_ 'they'?”

Liam breathes in deep and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other hand. “Maybe he said she; maybe it's just what I expected to hear. I just . . . why wouldn't he tell me?”

Zayn is quiet on the other end and Liam starts thinking about how Louis would change the conversation when he brought Hannah up. He starts thinking about how interested Louis would be in Liam's race meets and how everything was going at the gym. He starts thinking about how he just let Louis sway him away from a subject that was obviously painful, and Liam just let him.

He never really tried not to.

“I've been such a shit friend,” he says, but it's more of a whisper because it's obvious to Liam now that he knows more about Zayn's sex life than he does about what's going on in Louis' life—and yeah, Zayn's a close friend too, but this is _Louis_. Louis, who—if Liam is truly honest—Liam puts above every other friendship he's ever had.

“No, you haven't, I just—I think maybe you should talk to him, mate. I only know the little I do know from talking to Stan and that was because he needed a sympathetic ear and, well, I just think you should really talk with Lou.”

Stan being added to the mix doesn't make that much sense to Liam. He's pretty much what Niall is to Liam here, but for Louis in Doncaster instead. It doesn't make sense for him to be fighting or whatever with Stan, either, because Liam can't imagine ever having a cross word with Niall—and from what he knows of Louis and Stan's relationship, it's fairly similar. Except that Stan can get a little shirty about things and hold a grudge—he once didn't talk to Louis for a whole month and a half after Louis accused him of cheating at Super Mario Kart. Not exactly Louis' finest hour, and even that proves the situation between them must be something big and it just adds to how shit Liam feels that Louis hasn't felt he could bring any of this to Liam. Liam's talked to Lou about everything—even Dan—so why hasn't Louis opened up in the same way?

“I just—I don't understand why he wouldn't tell _me_ any of this. He's my—”

“He's your Louis, I know.” Zayn pauses with a distinct sound of smoke being let out of his lungs. “Maybe that's the reason he hasn't.”

Liam says nothing to that and they eventually get off the phone. Liam’s still feeling confused and hurt and like shit that he's maybe made Louis feel like he can't talk to Liam at all about important things like a relationship ending. He sits through dinner, quietly letting his mum and dad talk about their days, and Nicola is here for the weekend so she's banging on about her life at uni. Liam mostly zones out because Nicola studies science and Liam's never had an interest in that. It's only when she mentions this boy of hers that she's already moved in with and his dad's face has gone purple that Liam slips up away from the table.

He checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time since he texted Louis after talking to Zayn. Still nothing, not even a quick word to say he got home all right, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does. It shouldn't make his blood boil a little that Louis can't even be bothered to just type a few letters into his phone and hit the send key. It shouldn't make him pull out his bike from the shed and head down the side of the house and out onto the road without calling out to his parents about where he's going, but it does. He wants answers and he wants to know why Louis is being the way he is and why he left Liam out. Because really, that's the part that hurts the most—that Louis hid something like this or felt like Liam didn't need to know. That he wasn't worth telling.

% % %

 

He rides and rides and his gut churns with all that Zayn said and all that Louis hasn't. Before he even realises it, he's riding past the gate and down the drive to where Louis' bungalow is. He jumps off and leans his bike up against the wall before he bangs on the door with his fist. The time for being gentle and waiting for Louis to open up is over. Liam needs to know what's going on. He can't make up for being a shit friend if Louis is being a shit friend in return—which is stupid rationalisation, really, but he just can't take this quiet ignoring from Louis any more.

It takes a few seconds for Louis to open the door, and when he does he looks shocked but he doesn't even have time to say anything because Liam is barging his way inside with a finger poking into Louis' chest.

“What is wrong with you?” Liam asks, pushing Louis further into the room and into the light.

Louis is standing there, eyes wide, and his hair is all messy like he's been running his hands through it, but he doesn't say a word. Liam's pushing Louis' chest again with his finger when there's this loud crack of thunder followed by a flash of lightning through the windows as he asks Louis again what's wrong.

“Why are you acting like this? We're supposed to be friends,” Liam says with another shove, and this time Louis stumbles backwards, still silent.

“It's just not like you. It's not like you to be so quiet and it's not like you not to tell me things and it's making me mental! You're the one thing I look forward to every summer and it's like you're here but you're not, and I miss you. I miss my friend and it's dark out and my bike doesn't even have a light and I rode all the way here and do you even know how _far_ that is, Lou?” Liam stops because his teeth are chattering, and when he has to wipe at his nose he realises that it must have been raining and he was so worked up, so focused on getting to Louis, that he never even noticed.

He does now, though, and shivers. “In the rain, I might add—in the rain and I’m cold and wet and just—I miss you being you, all right? I miss my friend who laughs too loud and pinches my nipple too hard and who always makes me smile and gives the world’s best hugs for no apparent reason. I _miss_ him, and if that means getting a train to Doncaster and punching Stan right in the face for whatever happened that might have made you like this, then I’ll do it.”

Louis cracks a smile at this, the moment Liam says he’d hit Stan—though he never would, he’s not met Stan and he sounds like a decent lad but, it’s the point of the thing, really. A sort of best friend code of ethics or something.

Liam smiles and shivers again with the rumble of thunder above them. “That’s better. That’s more like my Louis.”

Louis steps closer and it has to be the leftover static electricity in the air from all the lightning that makes the hair on Liam’s neck stand on end. It must be something, because Louis’ is tilting his head to the side and _staring_ at Liam a little differently now, looking at him like he did a lot last summer, and Liam wonders for a brief second just how see-through his white tee shirt is. Or maybe the rain has bedraggled his stupid big hair further so he looks like a brunet version of Ronald McDonald .That could be the reason Louis is stepping toward him again. It’s so quiet now, so very quiet, and nothing is being said by him—which isn’t a surprise, really. Liam actually shocked himself with how much he just said in such a short span of time. No wonder Louis doesn’t want to speak.

He _is_ licking at his lips, though, and Liam can’t help but watch Louis’ tongue as it flicks out and around. Louis’ hand raises to his forehead, brushing that stupid flicky fringe of his out of his blue, blue eyes, and he’s just so beautiful that Liam feels that tell-tale pang in his chest that he gets whenever he really _looks_ at Louis, and this definitely isn’t the time for that. He can’t be thinking of Louis as anything more than a friend. Not now with how Louis has treated him, and not now with Louis being in whatever funk this is that he’s wallowing in. Louis’ pointy white teeth are pressed in on his bottom lip, right near the corner, and Liam just wants to cup Louis’ face and pull Louis’ lip free just so he can kiss it better. He just wants to kiss him, kiss whatever it is that’s made Louis pull away from him in the last few months so Louis realises that he doesn’t have to. That Liam would never let him deal with whatever he is going through alone.

“Your Louis, mm?” Louis asks, and it’s then that Liam realises he might have given just a little too much away with his grand speech. Fuck it all, he’d come here to find out all of Louis’ secrets and now it feels like he’s given away the biggest one of his own. Maybe Louis won’t see it like that. Maybe Louis won’t have heard how sincere Liam was about all the things he’s missed and that he likes Louis just a little too much for plain old friendship. Maybe Louis won’t see any of these things and they’ll just pretend Liam didn’t give away how much he wants Louis to like him _more_.

Louis shifts closer and Liam can count every freckle across the bridge of his nose and he can see just how tired Louis is by the tiny red spiderweb of veins that criss-cross his eyes at the edges. He wonders if it was he who caused that, who made Louis so upset he couldn’t sleep. He hates that he might be any sort of contributing factor to the state Louis is in and he wishes that Louis would let him _help_.

“Li—” Louis says, and he’s gotten so close that Liam can _smell_ the way he says his name, which should be weird, but then the lights go out and Liam thinks maybe it’s for the best. Liam shivers again and he’s not entirely sure whether it’s from being soaked to the bone or from the possibility of whatever it was that Louis was going to say. He shakes himself out of it, though, in the time it gets Louis to leave his side, saying something about finding a torch or a candle.

Liam would offer to help but he’s probably got less of an idea than Louis does of the layout of the bungalow and where any type of extra lighting may be hidden. He stands there and can feel water dripping from his trunks over his knees and onto the floor where he stands in his trainers, probably creating a great big puddle. There are sounds of Louis opening a drawer and then a bump and he swears, and it lifts the tension in the air because Liam can’t help laughing. There’s light after that and Liam can just make out Louis’ face with a slight scowl to it as he stares hard at Liam.

“Come on, then, can’t have you catching your death. Pretty sure your mother would never forgive me, or mine, for that matter.” He sounds sort of cranky at Liam and Liam thinks he probably should be—he didn’t ask Liam to come over and make a mess on the floor. He might not even _want_ to see Liam again, and all of a sudden Liam’s nervous because maybe Louis not answering his text meant more than just avoiding Liam. Maybe it meant something more along the lines of “It was awkward my mum bringing us here for the hols because I’ve outgrown your friendship” and “Wasn’t it obvious from my _not_ discussing my life with you that I don’t want to be friends?”

All the fight that Liam had built up on his ride over completely leaves his body now and he’s left feeling as icy cold on the inside as the goosebumps that cover his skin attest to on the outside. He must stand there for a beat or two too long because suddenly Louis is in front of him, torch lighting up the floor, and Liam jumps the second Louis’ hand comes in contact with his wrist.

“Liam” is all he says before sighing and dragging him bodily down the hall and through a spacious bedroom before he shoves him into the cold, tiled surface of what Liam assumes is the bathroom.

He’s left alone in the dark, watching the torchlight sway around the room, and there’s the sound of drawers opening and then Liam jumps because Louis is right in front of him again.

“Here,” Louis says, handing him what Louis hopes is clothing because he’s damn cold, and slapping down an extra torch on top. “Towels are on the rack.” And then he walks out, turning so his back is to Liam after hesitating near the door like he was going to close it but then thinking better of it because—well, it’s already dark. It’s not like he’s going to see anything. but he still stands with his back to Liam and Liam still turns around himself to get changed.

It’s really quiet apart from the rain pinging off the windows and roof and Liam is sure Louis can hear every single thread of Liam’s clothing as it comes unstuck from his body in slick sounds. It’s worse when he drops his trunks and pants to the floor; his cheeks heat and he’s thankful for the storm knocking out the power. Liam flicks the torch on and blinds himself in the process with a quiet “Ouch” that Louis still hears, if his snort is anything to go by. Liam grins and whispers a “Fuck off” in Louis’ direction, and he can imagine the hand signs that Louis would be flicking back at him. He just knows Louis that well.

Or thought he did.

He finds the towels and runs it briskly over his body because its _cold_ and he just wants to be out of this naked situation with Louis, too. Liam’s frown returns as he pulls on a pair of Louis’ joggers, and he tries to get Louis’ shirt over his arms and chest but his skin is still pretty damp and it gets stuck. He flails a bit to one side and bumps the torch off the bench where he’d set it and there’s this great noise that has Louis spinning around and then Liam’s seeing bright purple and green spots again.

“What are you doing in there?” Louis asks, a bit closer than before, and Liam looks up to find Louis in the doorway, all stiff and angular with his hand at his side like he doesn't know what to do with the one that isn't rapidly tapping the torch on his thigh.

"Getting stuck in your tiny clothes, obviously," Liam snarks, unable to keep the tone from his words because he's finally got his arms through and he's struggling to get the shirt rolled down over his chest.

Louis makes this little squeak before coughing and Liam isn't sure if there was a squeak at all. "Can't help it if I'm all natural and you're all added hormones and bulging muscles and rippling abs and all that."

Louis finishes the last part so softly that Liam can't help but tease, "Well, maybe if you played football more than ate in the kitchen while it was on you'd look like this, too." Liam might flex his chest a little and he can't help but note how Louis stutters like he was going to say something, but a giggle crossed with a snort comes out instead.

"Mate, I still sell out tickets to the gun show," Louis says, leaning one arm up against the door frame, and Liam has to swallow his retort because Louis _does_ have great arms. The almost normal banter between them fades then and the sound of the rain outside fills the strange space between them until Louis clears his throat and motions out toward the living room. 

He walks out before Liam can say a word, and Liam follows. He wishes for a minute that they could just go back to Liam being cold and wet, not slightly uncomfortable in Louis’ too-small, too-tight clothes and probably about to have the same equivalent in conversation with Louis. When he turns the corner into the room, with a sweep of his torch light he notes Louis is gone but there's a good reason for that.

"Louis, is that a blanket fort in the middle of your living room?”

Louis doesn’t answer but Liam can see the soft light radiating through the blue sheets that make up the roof. It’s not strange for them to have a blanket fort—well, maybe a little, because it was something they did when they were younger. Liam gets down on his hands and knees and pauses outside the entrance. “Can I come in?” he asks, merely because it’s polite and he still isn’t sure of where his friendship lies with Louis.

“Don’t be daft” is all he gets in reply, so taking a deep breath, Liam crawls in.

It’s not exactly spacious, there’s not even enough room for him to sit up; so he just lies down in the space Louis has left on one side between the sofas he’s pushed close together. There’s very little room between them, but instead of Liam closing the gap like he’d usually do or Louis would, neither of them moves. Liam’s torch has joined Louis’ above their heads on one of the throw pillows that must be from a sofa and neither of them say a word. It’s just the rain again; the storm part of the night must have moved on because there’s no thunder or lightning anymore. The silence starts to get stifling because Liam can hear his own breath, hear his own bloody heartbeat, and that’s really as much as he can take.

There are a million things he could say, a million ways he could start a million conversations that he needs and wants to have with Louis, but none of them come to mind. None that don’t involve admitting that he’s worried about Louis.

“I talked with Zayn” is what he _does_ say when he finally opens his mouth and sound comes out.

“Yeah?”

Liam stares up at the sheet above, focusing on the shadows that the tops of their heads make—on anything other than what he’s saying to Louis, because his stomach has filled with knots again and this feels harder than it should be—just talking with Louis.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Hannah?”

“Oh,” Louis says, and Liam echoes it in return because it’s _not_ an answer and he’s so tired of not having Louis speak that he continues on.

“And what happened with you and Stan? He’s one of your best mates, Lou,” and what Liam doesn’t add is that he’s one of Louis’ best mates, too, and is that what Louis is doing? Replacing all those he holds close with newer models or something? Because he could have told Liam that over the phone or something. Not made Liam feel like shit right here in the flesh.

“He still is. Or might be. I don’t know actually,” Louis says in this small voice. Liam breathes out long and slow, a breath he didn’t actually realise he’d been holding while he waited for Louis to answer his questions.

“What do you mean? Of course he is. It’s bloody hard _not_ to be your friend, Lou. Even when you push people away and keep them in the dark about things going on in your life.” Liam turns as he says this, watching Louis’ face as he gives him a dose of the truth that’s hurt Liam more than he cares to admit.

Louis gets this pinched look and then his eyes shift up and Liam wonders if he’s watching the same spot Liam was earlier. He stares for a bit and Liam counts how many breaths Louis takes until he speaks again, this time all soft and Liam has to lean in a little closer to hear.

“I kind of fucked up this year. Fucked up a lot, really,” Louis starts, and Liam waits because it doesn’t feel like Louis is done yet.

“Hannah and I, we sort of just stopped. We’re still mates and all, but it just wasn’t what we were both looking for anymore, I suppose. Then the Stan thing. Well, that was just stupidity on my part. I was trying something out and Stan offered to help but he just—he wasn’t the right one. The right person.” And Louis rolls onto his side and his eyes are wide and he’s chewing on his lip again.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” he says, and Liam’s thrown for a loop because this isn’t where he expected their talk to go. He nods because at least once every holiday they’ve had some sort of tent outside, or if the weather was poorly, a bunch of sheets inside the house.

“I wanted to say something to you—you know, last year when we stayed out on that beach for the night and we got caught in that storm? It was just you and me in our tent and Niall and Zayn in theirs and we thought we were going to die because of the wind?”

Liam nods again because he does remember that night. It was cold and they’d got caught out by the fire and had to strip their clothes off in the tent and Louis had complained about being freezing and snuggled right up to Liam, begging for a story or something to take his mind off how they might get washed away into the ocean and _die_. Liam had humored him and Louis had fallen asleep, head on Liam’s chest and hand over Liam’s heart. It had been the best and worse night of that entire summer purely because Louis was so close and yet so very, very out of Liam’s reach.

“That morning when we woke up and I’d used you as a pillow, I really wanted to say something then and I didn’t and I should have but I wasn’t . . . I didn’t know how.” Louis isn’t looking at Liam anymore, only down at the space between them. Without thinking—because it’s as natural to him as breathing, this wanting to make Louis feel better— Liam reaches out and brushes his fingertips against Lou’s for reassurance.

“Is this anything to do with why you’ve been so quiet, that you didn’t tell me all these things about your life this year?” It’s Louis’ turn to nod then and Liam can see that Lou’s face has lost a lot of its colour, even in the warm light of the torches. He’s shaking a little, and Liam might have said that last part out loud because Louis laughs; but it’s not the laugh that Liam knows. It’s this nervous titter that also manages to sound embarrassed, all at the same time.

“Yeah, it might be. It is—” Louis stops, taking in this deep breath and letting it out slowly before raising his eyes to Liam’s. There’s this hidden emotion in their depths and it’s another side of Louis that Liam feels like he should know, but with how cryptic Louis is being he’s completely out of his depth. “It’s just, have you ever wanted to tell someone something and not wanted to all at the same time, because it could change everything?”

Liam nods and licks his lips. His skin feels awfully dry and his breath is loud in his ears because this feels like something important. Almost as if Louis knows what Liam’s secretly thought about him in what feels like a one-sided forever. “Yeah,” he says instead of a multitude of other things, because he really _does_ know how that feels. How he feels himself about being truly honest with Louis.

He turns on his side properly, his fingertips interlocking with Louis’ and he shakes them about a bit, trying to let Louis know that whatever he says, it’ll be okay. “You can tell me anything, Lou. You’re—you’re my best friend, and that’s what best friends are for.” He finally looks back up at Louis and Louis is staring at where their hands are joined and then he’s not anymore, and he’s not so far away, either, because he’s actually leaning in and pressing his lips against Liam’s.

He’s kissing Liam and Liam’s eyes have gone wide and he’s probably forgot to breathe because this is _not_ what he expected. He can’t. Louis can’t be kissing _him_ because Louis isn’t—doesn’t like Liam like that.

Louis pulls back and he looks so disappointed, so utterly defeated, and Liam realises it’s because all that time Louis was kissing him, he never kissed Louis back.

“Sorry—” Louis starts, but whatever was going to come next Liam cuts off with his lips against Louis’, a force so hard he knocks Louis onto his back. Liam curls himself half over Louis, his hands braced on Louis’ shoulders as he kisses Louis hard. Louis makes this shocked “oomph” at the start and then his hands are on Liam’s waist, fingertips sliding over the bare skin that Louis’ stupid small shirt does nothing to cover. Liam finally remembers to open his eyes when Louis’ tongue darts into Liam’s mouth the minute he pauses to take a breath. Louis’ eyes are dark and hooded, his eyelashes a sooty line as he blinks. Liam can see happiness and want reflected in them. It just makes him want to kiss Louis more but he has to check, he has to know.

“Louis,” he starts, having no idea how to put into words what he wants to ask—not when there are so many, many things he needs to know.

“I want to be more than friends, Li. I want to kiss you all the time and I want to touch your ridiculously fit body and I want you to want me just the same. I haven’t stopped thinking about you like this since last year and I just—I like you in a whole different way and it’s scary, but I can’t pretend that I don’t want more.”

That’s all Liam needs, really. It’s in no way an explanation of everything that’s gone on, but Louis _wants_ him and Liam is very familiar with that himself, so he kisses Louis deeply, properly, with an open mouth and tongue, and he tastes all the parts of Louis that he loves and has wanted for so long in just one kiss. He stares into Louis’ eyes and Louis smiles against his lips. “I want that, I want you to, Lou. More than you know.” It’s all that he can say, it’s everything really, and Louis just winds his fingers into the curls at Liam’s neck and pulls him down for more.

They snog more than talk after that. Just kissing because they can, and touching doesn’t go that far under clothing until Liam just can’t _breathe_ in Louis’ shirt anymore and he sits back, between Louis’ thighs which had just been wrapped around his legs, and pulls the damn thing off over his head. He grins because it feels so much better and it _is_ getting a little warm inside the fort, and when he looks back down at Louis his heart stutters and skips a beat.

Louis isn’t doing anything, just has his hand resting on Liam’s leg and the other on his chest, lips red and swollen and his cheeks pink. His eyes, though, that’s what Liam can’t look away from because Louis’ just staring so hard at Liam, so full of this emotion that Liam can only hope is something like affection but then realises is something a little bit more from how Louis bites at his lip, his fingertips digging into Liam’s thigh.

“You are so, so ridiculously fit, you know that?”

Liam laughs. He ducks his head and shrugs because he’s never been able to take compliments well—even if this is different. Louis is saying it and he knows that Louis means it.

“Come back down here. I need to kiss you some more,” Louis says with a grin, his hand sliding up over Liam’s newly revealed skin until Liam’s so close that Louis’ fingers are in his hair again and he’s tugging and Liam can’t help the moan that escapes his lips.

“Like that, do you?” Louis asks, a little breathless, and Liam answers with a low, raspy “Yes” before biting at Louis’ lip and kissing him because Louis asked and Liam really, really wants to.

Louis pulls harder and Liam’s hips stutter and he’s been hard for a while, probably since Louis’ hands travelled over his arse right at the start, but the fact that he can _feel_ where Louis is in the same condition right against Liam’s hip is something different altogether. He grinds down and Louis’ breath turns sharp and his fingertips knit tight against Liam’s scalp. They pause for a moment, looking at each other, and Louis’ eyes seem darker or maybe the torches are running out of battery or something.

“Liam,” Louis says, and it’s more a breath really before his other hand is sliding down from the small of Liam’s back and curving over Liam’s arse, pulling him in, and Liam cants his hips forward again because it feels good. Louis’ head falls back a little and Liam thinks, _Louis likes this, too,_ and does it again. Louis’ eyelids flutter and Liam starts up this slow grind. It’s getting ridiculously tighter in Louis’ sweatpants but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to change positions or anything because what he’s doing has Louis making sounds and Liam wants to hear them all. It’s probably way too soon after what’s been admitted tonight to be doing this, but it feels so good and Louis is just—he’s touching Liam more and pulling Liam in close. Liam presses his lips to the pale line of Louis’ neck and shifts his hips again, rocking into where Louis is hard, and he slips his hand down from where it rested on Louis’ ribcage, feeling him breathe, and down, down over Louis’ thigh and cupping his knee, pulling Louis’ leg up and yeah, that’s it. Louis moans again and Liam leans up, chasing the sound with his mouth, and yeah. That’s good.

Louis says as much and he squeezes his thumb into a tendon at the back of Liam’s neck and then they’re kissing hard and Louis is pulling himself up and into Liam’s touch, heel pressed into Liams’ thigh and then Liam’s arse as he chases the friction he needs—they need to make this even better. Liam swears softly, breaking their kiss to just _breathe_ into Louis’ neck and Louis’ hand slips down to Liam’s shoulder, blunt fingernails biting into Liam’s skin on the one arm that he’s balanced himself on so precariously over Louis.

“This is—” Louis starts, and Liam answers with “I know,” and then he can feel it. The warmth that was building in the pit of his belly is unfurling and encompassing every part of him as he watches Louis near gasping for breath in between how his lips just can’t stop pressing to every part of Liam’s skin and Liam can only watch. He can only watch because he’s making Louis like this. He’s the one who has Louis so out of control, and it’s his name that’s leaving Louis’ lips and his touch that is making Louis break that one simple word into a dozen different breathy moans and sounds that Liam keeps trying to have Louis make more of.

Christ, he’s so hard and he knows Louis is, too, can feel it and it isn’t weird. None of what they’re doing seems odd, it just feels right, and Liam is so overcome, so utterly undone that Louis wants him like this and Louis is letting him do anything more than kiss him that he really doesn’t think he can take much more.

“Can you?” he asks, hoping that Louis knows what he means because Liam’s kind of lost the ability to make words, to create full sentences because his everything is wound up tight with Louis.

“Yeah, close,” is all Louis comes back with before he’s tugging at Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth and then his tongue is in Liam’s mouth again, a slow, wet slide that is all too similar to how their cocks are moving against each other through the thin material separating them. Liam wonders—for the second it takes Louis to nip at his jaw and leave fingerprint bruises over Liam’s hip bones, he’s sure—if he should slide his hand between them and shift their clothing out of the way because the skin they are sharing touches with now feels good, but _that_ would surely feel even better. But that track of thought is soon gone because Louis is going utterly tense underneath him and the hold he has on Liam’s arm and waist tightens even more as his hips stutter upwards, and Liam now knows what Louis looks like when he comes.

That’s enough for Liam, really, that one realisation— how Louis’ eyes close and his mouth falls open and he doesn’t make a sound, just breathes in and groans out and that’s it. That’s Liam dropping his head to Louis’ shoulder as he ruts against where Louis’ made it all wet and warm between them and he’s coming so hard he actually bites at Louis’ shoulder harder than he means to. He breathes in stuttered gasps afterward and he can feel Louis’ chest moving in the same way before Louis’ hand is on his back, just running slow and lazy over Liam’s spine and Liam kisses Louis’ skin, runs his tongue over the teeth mark he’s sure to have left. He gets an odd sort of happiness out of the fact that Louis is going to have a bruise there tomorrow. A bruise in the shape of Liam’s mouth, and, well—that’s something, isn’t it.

“Well,” Louis says after minutes have passed and it’s getting a bit sticky in Liam’s pants, but he doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to think that what just happened might be a one-off or that he might look up and Louis could have changed his mind and just wanted someone to get off with. Not that Liam had asked permission to just start rubbing himself against Louis but Louis hadn’t said to stop, and this could be too fast for him—he’d literally _just_ admitted to liking Liam and then Liam was all over him.

“Louis—” Liam starts, finally lifting his head, but Louis’ lips cut him off once more and Liam thinks for a second that that was how the whole thing started. Louis and his lips shutting Liam up, and maybe—maybe Louis doesn’t mind after all.

He did get an orgasm out of it.

“What other secrets have you been holding out on me, Liam, while I pined away and should have just talked to you? Because if that’s what I get when I admit to wanting to kiss you, what exactly will you do when I tell you that—” and Louis doesn’t get to say any more because Liam kisses him because he can and because Louis likes it—wants him to, even.

And it doesn’t matter that they both should really get out of their trousers because dry come isn’t pleasant to wake up in, and it doesn’t matter that the power has turned back on sometime between Louis squeezing Liam’s arse and Liam sucking on the mark he’d left on Louis’ skin. It doesn’t matter because Louis is holding Liam close and Louis actually feels the same way Liam does—has for so long it’s almost as if he never actually didn’t feel this way at all.

% % %

Niall shouts the entire ice cream parlour free sundaes when Louis and Liam walk in hand in hand the day after the fort incident (and later has to recant the offer because his boss, Nicolo, finds out and tells him it’ll be taken out of his pay pack, that). Instead he just buys Louis and Liam a banana split to share and smiles wider and hugs them both with an “about finafuckingly” with what Liam fails to mention is a tear in his eye. Niall does wait till Nicolo is out and calls Zayn on the phone in the back, and even out where the customers are queuing up Liam can hear him passing on the news all loud and full of a happiness that Liam can feel in every part of his body. He even manages to get a call in to Demi, who’s been shipped off to her aunt’s in Sicily due to some public indecency scandal she and Niall caused at the end of the school break. Niall had to take over her position at the ice creamery because of it—not that he minds, because in his words, “She was worth it and I get all the free ice cream I can sneak while Nicolo’s back is turned.”

So Niall covers for Liam down at the gym a bit—because Paul needs the help and Niall needs the money for something he won’t tell Liam about—and Liam’s never been so happy. He’s got Louis and he’s in love and gay sex is _great_ —well, as much as they’ve done together because they’re both still learning what each other likes and slow is good, slow is great because they only have what’s left of the summer before Louis goes back to Doncaster and Liam’s stuck here alone again.

The rest of the summer is spent snogging in as many places as possible and Liam learns just how to touch Louis to make him moan and Louis learns how to give a blow job and it’s all sorts of amazing, really. Liam’s never been this happy in his life, and even if it’s just watching movies curled up on Liam’s bed like they’ve always done, it’s different because Liam can lean down and press his lips to Louis’ whenever he wants to. It’s different because Louis can do the same thing. Being with Louis is all that Liam ever allowed himself to dream it would be, and more.

They’re lying on Liam’s bed, so tangled against each other it’s hard to tell what parts of their bodies _aren’t_ pressed close. Liam feels both sad and happy at the same time. He’s carding his fingers through Louis’ hair and Louis is pressing his lips in a circuit covering Liam’s collarbone and neck, the tip of his tongue paying special attention to Liam’s birthmark before travelling down and around again. It’s lazy and lovely and they’ve been doing not much more than this and some light snogging for most of the afternoon. Liam’s going to miss this, miss when Louis is so far away and he can’t touch, can’t reach out and make sure it’s still real—that Louis still wants him as much as Liam does and that Louis is still _his_

“I’ve been thinking,” Louis says, his lips pressed into the space between Liam’s collarbones, surveying up and over where Liam’s Adam’s apple bobs as he replies with an interested hum. “I’ve been thinking that my dad’s giving me a car for uni this year and that Sheffield really isn't that much further a drive than Doncaster is to here, and I get a break over Christmas, and Mum really wouldn’t miss me too much, she’d understand,” and Liam hears what he’s so desperately hoped for—that Louis wants to make whatever this is work even though they’re going to be apart.

He smiles and it hurts his cheeks with how wide it is, but he tilts his head down, pressing his lips to Louis’ hair, and says, “Mum and Dad are getting me driving lessons for my birthday. And Paul does matches and things at Manchester some weekends. A bus to Sheffield wouldn’t be too difficult to catch.”

He feels Louis’ answering grin against his neck before Louis’ sharp teeth nip and he laughs, and Louis nuzzles in close, closer than Liam thought they could get considering it didn’t feel like there was any space between them before.

“So we’ll try?” Louis says, mumbling against Liam’s skin.

“We’ll try,” Liam says in return, his heart so full it could burst out of his chest, and he closes his eyes, fingertips back to sliding through Louis’ hair. Best summer ever.


	5. 2010 ~ Liam is 17, Louis is 18

**2010** ~ _Liam is 17, Louis is 18_

Liam’s summer starts off a little like Groundhog Day.

He wakes up to Bruno Mars crooning about being a billionaire, or at the very least wanting to, and shuts off his alarm before rolling out of bed with a sigh to start his day. He pulls on his joggers and heads out before the sun rises, with nothing but the silent streets and his shoes slapping the road as music to his run. He runs until his chest aches and then he stops and drinks his water and stretches a little before jumping three times, skipping for four beats, and then running again. He takes the stairs two at a time when he gets home and showers in water so cold there’s only the hint of heat to it. He dresses and grabs an apple and kisses his mum on the cheek before she can start doing anything as awful as talking to him and is back out the door, grabbing his push-bike and decidedly not looking at the car he never learned to drive that his dad helped him buy secondhand for his birthday last year.

He parks the bike at the back of the Ice Creamery and ties on his apron after saying good morning to Nicolo, then serves customers summer sweets until his shift ends at four. He takes off his apron and hangs it up for the next day before picking up his bike and heading off in the direction of the gym. He works out with Paul and Sean on Tuesday and Thursday, on his own Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, until he can hardly feel his arms anymore, but he still manages to ride home in one piece. He reheats whatever his mum has made for dinner, shakes his dad awake to go sleep in his own bed upstairs, and eats half of his meal, tossing the rest into a box for his dad’s lunch. He gets his pajamas from his room, looking everywhere but at his computer and phone still on charge, and showers.

It’s only when he’s in bed, when he’s lying on his back and sleep should come easy but it’s just this tease at the edges of his brain, that he finally picks up his phone. He turns it on and waits the obligatory seconds for it to start up, deletes the messages that aren’t wanted, ignores the calls from those who aren’t important, and watches as the numbers on the clock shift, counting down to the next morning when he’ll start it all over again.

Groundhog Day—well, without the do-overs. Just monotonous, unchanging, never-ending _sameness_ that Liam can’t stand and should care about but he can’t. He can’t feel _anything_ and that’s the problem.

% % %

“He’s not coming, is he?” Liam says when July has turned into August and Zayn calls the house phone just to talk to Liam.

Zayn is quiet on the other end and Liam takes it as answer.

“I don’t know, Li. He could be, could be running late. He could have had to help out his mum and didn’t know how to tell you. He could have had extra things to do for uni or something. You said he lost his phone, yeah?”

Liam nods and whispers a _yeah_ as he sits on the hard dining chair his mum dragged over beside the phone so he’d actually spend some time talking with his friend. He’s not allowed to avoid Zayn and Niall’s calls any more. She’s not going to cover for him, and whatever this funk is he’s got himself into this holidays they could probably help him out with.

Liam gets it. She’s probably run out of excuses for him, too. The one she gave Niall about him having exploding diarrhoea was probably the worst of her ideas—or the best, considering he’d never let her cover for him with Niall again after that. It’s just hard. It’s hard to talk to them and not have them ask about Louis and ask about Liam doing things that are normal for their break and Liam doesn’t want to do any of them. He avoids the pier, he can’t go down to the beach or out in his boat, because everything reminds him of what he did with Louis their last summer together. The summer Liam thought wouldn’t actually fade like the skin that reddens and peels from Niall’s shoulders. He thought they’d have _more_.

“I haven’t spoke to him since May, really. We both had exams coming up and he was working more but I thought—I thought it didn’t matter because I’d have him now. And—” He can’t talk any more because his throat is closing up and _this_ is exactly why he’d been avoiding Zayn and Niall. They’re too easy to talk to and they’re too much a reminder of what Liam had hoped for this summer—what he’d hoped for all year, really, but that hasn't happened, either.

Christmas came and went without them seeing each other because Louis needed to spend it at home with the girls and his mum just to regroup. The Tomlinsons’ last summer together in Blackpool had been exactly that—Mark had pulled out all the stops hoping that it would fix whatever was wrong between him and Johanna and it hadn’t, it only became worse. And then Louis had rung a week before Liam was supposed to catch the bus out to Doncaster and told him it wasn’t a good time.

He never mentioned anything about his birthday, either.

Time has moved sluggishly on and maybe it’s Liam’s fault, too, getting his course work done and track stepped up a notch this year with his coach really pushing training for the Olympics. Maybe it is Liam’s fault, too. He could try harder, make an effort to go see Louis even when Louis says not to bother. Louis is his best friend and Liam’s let him go through everything this year alone—his parents’ breakup, first year of uni away from his family, his birthday—fuck, had Liam even sent a card?

No wonder Louis hasn’t wanted to come. No wonder Louis has conveniently lost his phone.

“Li? Are you still there?” Zayn’s voice breaks into Liam’s downward spiral which is the usual whenever he lets himself think about Louis, and he blinks and swallows hard and brushes his free hand over the wetness at his eyes.

“Yeah, still here,” and the “all alone” goes without saying.

% % %

He’s out front mowing the lawn when this huge Range Rover turns up, blasting something with heavy bass, and it makes him look up. It’s usually pretty quiet in Liam’s street at this time on a Sunday. The car’s stopped out in front of his house, engine still running, as Liam pauses to grab at his shirt where he tucked it into the back of his shorts earlier, rubbing it over his face now because it’s bloody hot out in the midday sun. He should have just waited till the afternoon but his mum had that “just open up to me and _talk_ ” face so he figured sweating his arse off was a better option. He can’t handle talking to her about “why he’s so sad lately” and “what exactly happened with—” because he still can’t hear _his_ name. Still runs out of the room the moment his mum makes a sound like she’s going to talk to Liam about his love life, because there isn’t one any anymore. Plus it’s just awkward all around—even if both his parents and his sisters are fine with his sexuality, Liam isn’t fine with discussing it, definitely not now.

The passenger door opens before the engine is even turned off and this skinny guy with even skinnier black jeans hops out and Liam is smiling so hard his face hurts with it. He leaves the mower, throws his shirt on the ground, and _runs_ , because Zayn is here.

“Mate!” he shouts, nearly tackling Zayn to the ground he’s hugging him so hard, pushing his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck and _breathing_ in. Zayn smells exactly the same as he did two years before and Liam’s laughing, because even in this heat Zayn’s still got his hoodie on.

Zayn’s got his arms wrapped just as tight around Liam, laughing loud under Liam’s ear and patting his back, probably because Liam’s nearly squeezing the breath out of him. The latter turns out to be true from what Zayn says a second later.

Liam pulls back and rubs his hand through Zayn’s hair. He knows Zayn hates having it messed up but Zayn is _here_. “What—why—I mean—” Liam starts, and he stops as Zayn catches his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Zayn’s smile is as wide as Liam’s, all perfect white teeth, and his dark eyes sparkle. “Which would you like me to answer first?”

Liam punches him lightly in the arm with his free hand. “All, either, both?”

“Still the same decisive boy I remember, then, are we?”

Liam laughs and it’s a real, proper chuckle that shakes his chest, and how long has it been since he’s done that?

“Shut up. Just—you’re really here!”

Zayn’s hand slides up from Liam’s hand and grips his shoulder hard. “Of course I am. Couldn’t keep me away for another year, mate. Missed your mum’s baking, to be honest.”

Liam pokes Zayn in the side. “Cheeky!” he says as Zayn grabs at his finger and pulls and Liam tugs back, pulling them both to the ground, and then the scuffle is on.

They’re rolling around on the grass and laughing more than getting any more digs at each other in than “You fight like a girl” and “At least I _have_ hair to pull, Payno,” which—yeah, Liam shaved his head this summer. It was all for the couple of bouts Paul put him in, and yeah, it might not have made _much_ of a difference to his time , but it was more aerodynamic than his head of curls, wasn’t it? Zayn’s somehow got Liam’s face stuck under his armpit when another deep, sleepy-like voice comes from somewhere above them.

“Is this how they welcome you to town out here?”

Zayn pats at Liam’s back and moves to let him up. “Finally got your arse out of the car, did you? I don’t _really_ think your mum meant to ring her and tell her _everything_ about our drive when we got here. Simple text would have sufficed,” Zayn says, and Liam still hasn’t moved because he feels like a part of the happiness for just _seeing_ Zayn has fled from his body purely because he forgot that Zayn had got here somehow and that somehow is obviously someone new. Someone new and it’s not—well, it’s not that Liam was expecting it to be anyone in particular. Not someone who was friends with both Zayn and Liam and who was actually expected this summer. It’s not like Liam was expecting anyone at all.

He sits up and brushes off the grass that’s sticking to his chest and looks up, shading his eyes from the sun, and yeah, it’s definitely someone new.

“Hiya,” the boy says, all wide smile and big, brown curls. He’s got his hand outstretched and Liam can see words in the pale skin at the crease of his elbow that read “Things I can.”

Liam must stare for a moment too long or something because a frown forms on the other boy’s brow. Liam thought _he_ was good at puppy-eyes, but this green-eyed lad has guilt in a stare-down in spades.

“Hi,” Liam says when he finally remembers to be polite. He takes the other boy’s hand to let him help Liam up but pulls back when he feels a jolt up his arm the second their skin touches.

“Sorry,” the other boy says with a grin that reveals a dimple in his cheek as he rubs the offending hand on his thigh. “Bloody car builds up static electricity so much it could power a small village.”

Liam shrugs and swallows because this boy is sort of pretty—ridiculously so—and he’s also sort of dorky at the same time. Which, really, Liam can relate to.

“Try again?” the boy says, hand out once more, and Liam takes it with a tiny bit of caution before gripping a little tighter as he uses the other boy for balance to stand. Once Liam is upright he smiles and realises this boy might actually be a little taller than him. Which isn’t really anything in the way of important—yet it’s noticeable all the same. Sort of like this boy’s dimples, which deepen even further.

“Harry,” the boy says by way of introduction, and Liam shakes his hand that he hasn't let go of.

“Liam—but you probably already know that, considering.”

Harry laughs, this loud guffaw, and his eyes squint closed as he does. Liam can't help joining in and he hasn't—he hasn't laughed like this in forever.

“Yeah, I know. Zayn's talked about you a fair bit.”

“He hasn't mentioned you,” Liam says without really thinking too much about how it sounds, truthful as his statement may be. “Oh bugger—I mean—I didn't mean that the way it came out, I just meant—” he stutters, feeling his cheeks flush with more heat than the sun on his back is causing.

Harry's eyes fill with amusement and Liam shakes his head. “Sorry, I just—” He breathes out in a huff and tries to school his face into a normal look, not one that borders on freaking out about holding someone’s _hand_ for too long, or something ridiculous like that. “Do you two want to come in? Are you staying long?”

“Well, Zayn thought you might have room for us to stay? We brought a tent if your family don't mind us putting it up in your yard, of cours, and my mum packed us an insane amount of food and we've got a bit of money—if it's all right with you of, course,” Harry says. Liam just blinks. He is most definitely not welling up because Zayn came and he's staying and—he's definitely not wiping a tear from his eye. He was just looking into the sun, is all.

“Nicola's home, so Harry can have Ruth’s bed and you can bunk in with me, Zayn, if you want?” Liam says, for the first time noticing that Zayn is actually standing beside Harry now. Then he remembers that they came together, and . . . oh. “Or you two could have my bed and I’ll kip in Ruth’s. Mum and Dad will be fine with it, I think.”

Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes and Harry shakes his head no. “Maybe it should be you two, considering,” Zayn says, and he gestures with his head to where Liam is still holding Harry’s hand or Harry’s holding his. Not that it matters, because as soon as Liam realises he lets go and rubs the now-tingling skin on his thigh.

Zayn laughs and steps forward, wrapping his arm around Liam.s neck and turning them toward the house. “Come on, then, let’s see if we can get Harry to use his charm for good and get your mum to say she’ll make Nicola have the tent, and we can all have a good night’s rest.”

Liam leans his head on Zayn’s shoulder for a moment and lets Zayn pull him inside.

His hand doesn’t feel right even after dinner, where Harry’s got Nicola and his mum wrapped around his little finger and he winks at Liam before closing the door on Ruth’s room when Harry and Zayn head to bed.

% % %

Harry’s really nice.

Which doesn’t sound like a bad thing and it isn’t; it’s just that even with Zayn’s arrival and how excited he is to see his friend, Liam still hurts about Louis and everything that he doesn’t understand. He hurts and Zayn tells him he’s pining, and it’s something he’s trying not to do. He smiles when the others do, he laughs when he thinks it’s the right time, and he adds to the conversation enough that Zayn or Niall don’t stare at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s not being sociable at all.

It was probably the exact reason Zayn brought Harry here. To make Liam be normal because he _knows_ from past experience that Liam can’t _not_ be personable and friendly and—well, it sucks that his friends are aware of that. It’s made even worse by how likeable Harry is and how he nearly hangs on every one of Liam’s words and laughs at things so loudly that Liam doesn’t consider all that hilarious. He was never the comic—that was all Louis and a little bit of Niall. Not Liam. Not straitlaced, normal, not-even-worth-a-phone-call-to-break-up-with-someone Liam.

Harry is a snuggler, too. Another thing that Liam wouldn’t find bad, wouldn’t find anything to take umbrage at, but it’s the fact that he likes cuddling—no, _touching_ —Liam at every opportunity that’s what really gets on Liam’s nerves. If they’re at the beach Harry is by his side, not even sitting on his own towel but putting it on the ground so close to Liam’s that he ends up just lying all over Liam more often than not, his long, lanky body not quite filled out in all places but nice enough in the ones where it is. And Harry has tattoos that cover his skin in the most random of ways and he’s caught Liam staring at the lyrics that are nearly faded hanging like an upside-down rainbow in the curve of Harry’s inner arm.

Liam finds them pretty fitting for Harry because Harry is sort of tenacious when it comes to a lot of things. One being Liam. He’s always asking Liam questions about his life, from the mundane of “Do you _only_ eat vanilla ice cream?” to the slightly more invasive “Do you own _any_ pants that aren't white and tight, Li?” because of _course_ he's already picked up on Liam's nickname from Zayn.

He's just so _lovely_ and he opens doors for little old ladies and he helps Liam's mum in with the groceries and he talks to Liam like he is truly interested in what Liam has to say. He remembers things later that have come up in conversation, pointing them out at random times, and it stops Liam in his tracks because no one really does that. No one remembers the insignificance of what Liam says, probably because Liam feels like most of what he says _is_ insignificant.

Harry makes time for him, too. He waits for Liam when they're all headed out to bowling for the night and Liam can't find his shoes (because he likes bowling okay, he plays a bit with his Dad—it's their thing). He gets Liam's drink and popcorn when they all go to the cinema, dragging a pining Aiden who'd been smacked in the face the previous week after standing outside Cher's house attempting to serenade her back into his arms. He remembers that Liam likes his Coke without ice and how does he even _know_ this? Harry and Zayn have only been here for two weeks and to the movies once before.

Zayn keeps shooting Liam looks and Liam can't understand them—or doesn't want to think on it too much because Harry makes him forget. Liam forgets that he hasn't heard from Louis in months. He forgets that before Louis' birthday they really didn't talk often at all. He forgets that Louis got in his family car after their summer together, after kissing Liam all soft and sweet and yet so passionately at the same time, and he virtually _left_. He left Liam in Blackpool thinking that they could be a something but it was just a lie. He was a summer fling, and even their friendship wasn't worth enough to Louis to save over having something more. Maybe he really hadn't wanted Liam at all.

And Harry makes Liam forget that. Harry gives him faith that there is good in people and that he's not just some thing to experiment with and then leave in the dark, used and cold and alone. Harry makes Liam think that maybe he is worthy of being wanted.

Which is when it all goes downhill rather spectacularly, really.

% % %

 

The first thing Liam thinks is how loud it is, and the second is just _how_ did Nialler pay for all of this?

There are at least two massive tents that are glowing with colour and sound that's nearly vibrating from the _thumpa thump_ inside when Harry pulls up at the field Old Man Cowell has given Niall permission to use for his “party thing.” Party thing might be the world's greatest understatement, though. Liam's fairly certain that a “party” doesn't have a random bloke dressed up with fairy wings and glitter all over his face with a bloody tutu on taking money at the gate to get in. Liam feels like a bit of a dick when they get to the front of the line (a _line_ , of all things!) and he hasn't got any money or his wallet on him because Niall didn't _say_ to. His flailing about and awkward smiles at the bloke aren't needed, though, because Zayn just pushes past and says something in the bloke’s ear and then they're being welcomed in.

Liam follows behind Harry and is quietly gobsmacked because this really _isn't_ the type of party he's known Niall to throw. There are loads of people milling about, and when they make it into the tent there are even more people and Liam can't even pick out a face that he knows.

“Did you know about this?” he shouts at Zayn, leaning in close and cupping his hand to Zayn's ear because whatever house music is playing is really loud.

Zayn shakes his head. “Not entirely. Harry helped him out with the DJ, I think.”

Liam looks for Harry then, who had been bringing up the rear, but he's no longer there. Liam's searching the crowd, which is hard considering the floor is filled with people and they're moving in time to the music. Then Zayn bumps his shoulder and oh, Harry's up on stage, hugging this tall bloke with a giant quiff that Liam can make out even at this distance. He leans back and Liam can see Harry smiling and finds himself grinning right back when Harry waves in their direction. He probably can't see them, but Liam waves back anyway. That's the effect Harry has—he makes Liam want to do things like laugh and smile and forget about all that made it difficult to do so.

Before he can think about Harry's dimples any further, he's being tackled around the neck by his blond-haired Irish friend, slapping Niall on the arm when his lips meet Liam's cheek in a wet kiss.

“You fuckers made it!” he says, and Liam wipes at his cheek as Niall hugs Zayn, too.

“Harry got a bit lost,” Zayn says by way of explanation, which is a little bit of a lie considering Liam was being navigator but had never been to this particular part of Old Man Cowell's land himself. He'd tried, but the instructions Niall had given were in his awful chicken-scratch handwriting and were slightly blurred from whatever drink the napkin had been resting on while Niall wrote everything down. They were lucky to find another car to follow in, to be honest.

Liam finds his voice after staring at Niall for a minute because “What exactly are you wearing, Nialler?”

Niall's smile grows wide as he pretends to wipe off his shoulders and Liam curses the day Zayn introduced Niall to hip hop. “Don't you like my threads? Thought they were fitting and all, seeing as this is a summer party.”

“But we're not in Hawaii, mate,” Liam says, poking at one of the absurdly large yellow flowers on Niall's blindingly red shirt.

Niall shrugs and opens his mouth to say something else but then Harry's there, wrapping an arm around Niall, who turns and hugs Harry fiercely. Harry gets a wet slap of lips on his cheek, too, and his dimples deepen as Niall thumps him on the back. Harry catches Liam's eye with raised brows before mouthing, “Help!” Liam gives him a few seconds, because he's been in one of Niall's extra special strength thank-you hugs and maybe it's a little funny to watch Harry, who doesn't really know Niall all that well, be on the receiving end of one. Harry's eyes widen some more and Liam rolls his own before stepping forward to tap on Niall's shoulder.

“He's bloody gold, this one,” Niall says, slapping his hand again on Harry's arm and gripping Liam's with the other.

“Haz here got me the fecking DJ for free, mate! And put word out about what I was setting up. Little godsend, you are!” Niall looks like he's going to attack Harry again in a hug or worse, so Liam grabs Harry's free hand and pulls Harry to his side. Niall blinks and looks between them for a minute before Zayn's knocking into Niall and pointing at the lights and where—fuck, is that a smoke machine?

Niall gives them a wave and he and Zayn disappear into the crowd. Liam watches Zayn's back until he really can't spot them anymore. Liam's grinning because _only_ Niall could pull off something like this in such a short space of time and in such a large manner.

He feels this tug on his hand and oh, yeah, he grabbed Harry before. Liam isn't sure if he should let go, though, because Harry's got a nice grip, and when Harry nods over at what looks like a makeshift bar of sorts Liam figures he should probably hold on. It is crowded in here and the bar—or table in front of a bunch made up somehow of some fridges, one of which looks very much like the one in Niall's dad's shed that he keeps his home brew in—is halfway across the other side of the tent.

It's the reason he keeps Harry's hand in his as Harry drags him through the throng, and it's because Harry doesn't let go when he picks up each of them a beer that Liam doesn't, either. He keeps his fingers twined with Harry’s when they finish their drinks and Harry turns in close, his body lined up almost with Liam's as he nearly shouts in Liam's ear, “Wanna dance?”

Liam nods and yells back “Yes,” but Harry's already turned away from him again and is leading him right into the middle of the crowd, not stopping until they're surrounded on all sides and some mix of Katy Perry and something Liam doesn't recognise is filling his ears. Harry turns and brings their joined hands to his hip, his other meeting Liam's, and they dance close but not _too_ close, and it's nice. It's nice watching Harry's half-smile and seeing his eyes close as he lets his head drift back and forth to the beat. It's nice as Harry grips Liam’s hip harder, giving him a shake as Liam forgets to move because he's just watching Harry.

Harry's eyelashes flutter and his big green eyes are revealed. He leans forward and Liam chokes a little on his breath because he's so close Liam can just feel Harry's cheek brush his own. “You have to _move_ , Li,” he says, and then he's pulling back but not before he nips at Liam's chin.

Liam swallows hard and wonders if he imagined Harry doing that at all, because Harry's eyes have slid closed again and the corner of his lips are turned up. He's moving like he did before and Liam squeezes his hand on Harry's hip and does actually join in. Harry makes him laugh with all these ridiculous dance moves that Liam can't help joining in with and he nearly chokes when Harry does the Sprinkler and knocks not one but two tall lads in the back of the head. He gets away with it, though, with a wink and a shrug and a “Sorry.” Liam has no idea how, but Harry _is_ quite charming, even Liam's picked up on that. They take time out every so often to go fetch drinks, one or the other bringing back a beer until a few hours in Liam's literally buzzing because Harry got his hands on a bottle of vodka. Liam's pretty much given up on caring about his poor, weak little kidney—it's getting toward the end of summer and this is the most fun he's had all year, really.

He's pretty drunk and a little sloppy as he dances against Harry, hand on his waist to steady him is all, as Harry grins and Liam finds himself staring at Harry's lips. They're red and pouty and Harry keeps licking them and Liam can't help wondering how many licks it would take for them to start getting chapped. He shakes his head a little and giggles because it's a ridiculous thing to think and he really _is_ drunk then. He still watches Harry's lips, though, as they move and the music changes and the air gets so hot Liam feels like they're breathing in nothing but sweat and smoke and it's fucking _steaming_.

They're rocking to the beat and then something comes on with a whistle that has Harry gripping Liam's shoulders, his face all lit up. “I fucking love this song!” He lets go of Liam and he's bouncing around with his hands in the air and Liam watches because Harry looks so free. So happy.

Liam misses being like that.

He misses not second-guessing every text, every phone call, every _word_ he's ever shared with Louis that led to Louis not even wanting to talk to Liam again. He hates that he's let Louis and what they were or could have been ruin his summer when he's got Harry here, who's basically appeared out of nowhere and who makes being happy look easy. Harry, who keeps hanging around Liam, who apparently finds Liam interesting enough to spend time with. Like now—he could be off with Zayn or any of the countless other pretty people they're in the crowd with, but he grabbed Liam's hand and since he let go he’s still kept some part of their bodies joined together. Harry's got his leg between Liam's as they rock to a new beat, a little more sexy and heavy on the bass, and Harry's eyeing Liam now as Liam's hands fall on Harry's waist with something a little like intent.

Liam doesn't really know what to do with that, but he doesn't move away, either. If he shifts a little closer it's purely because someone pushed him from behind. If he grinds up against Harry's thigh and runs his hands up under Harry's shirt and over the tight muscles in his back it's just . . . it's just . . . no, there's no excuse.

He _wants_ to touch Harry. He likes how Harry's skin feels, all hot and smooth under his shirt, and he wants to feel more. It could be the drink talking but Liam thinks maybe it's not. Maybe it's just the fact that Harry is so damned lovely and he's just so nice to Liam all the time, and perhaps Harry's been flirting with him? He has touched Liam a lot and he's always smiling at him and doing things for him and he always, _always_ sits beside Liam wherever they go—even if there's a spare seat. It could be flirting or it could be that Harry's just like that. Liam's never sure when people are interested in him like that, ever. It took Dan snogging him senseless for Liam to realise the time they spent together was actually Dan wanting to kiss him and stuff.

Most of Liam's friends are rather touchy-feely, so it could be nothing the way Harry's hands find Liam's shoulders and pull him in. It could be completely innocent the way Harry is just staring at Liam now, his eyes dancing with the flashing light of the strobe (how _did_ Niall organise all of this?). It could be. It could be nothing, but then Harry's licking at his lips and then Harry's fingertips are moving up and then they're sliding up and around to cup Liam’s neck. Harry's hands are so big his thumbs are brushing gently over Liam's cheeks and, well, that's it, really.

Liam can blame all the things under the sun for why he meets Harry's half-smile with a kiss. In truth it's because he wants to. He wants to see what Harry tastes like (beer and vodka and the bitter tang of both) and he wants to kiss Harry because Harry is kissing him back, and that can only be a good thing, right? Harry's tongue slides into Liam's mouth as Liam's fingertips press in just under Harry’s shoulder blades, his shirt too tight to get them any higher. Harry's really good at kissing—but Liam is no slouch himself and soon meets every soft brush and flick of Harry's tongue with nips of Harry's fat bottom lip and hard presses of his own. Harry's making these sounds that Liam can't hear, but their bodies have become pressed together so tight somehow that he can feel them rumbling in Harry's chest.

It's been so long since someone's looked at Liam the way Harry does as he pulls back, lets Liam guide his shirt up until he takes over and just rips the thing off his head, letting it fly into the air behind him. And fuck, isn't that the hottest thing Liam's seen. Harry's hair is just—curls everywhere, matted to his neck and bouncing in the most wild manner on his forehead and Liam's got them curled around his fist, feeling the damp slide of them between his fingertips as he drags Harry back in to kiss some more. Harry's got his hands on Liam's bum now and at the pockets of Liam's jeans, tucked in and squeezing in a rhythm that's slightly off from the beat of the music around them. Liam would normally care about being like this, but he's completely lost to how Harry keeps kissing him and touching him and _wanting_ him—him, Liam—that he can't be fucked to care that half the school population half the bloody _town_ are there and can see him nearly shagging Harry in the middle of the crowd.

He can feel Harry hard in his own jeans against Liam's leg and it's nearly difficult in their position to get a good grind going because the moment he does for Harry, his own dick misses out on the same treatment. Harry must realise this eventually or something because his hand leaves Liam's back pocket only to slip between them, rubbing hard over where Liam's nearly in pain from how the zip of his jeans is pressing against his dick through his pants. It's so good, feels so good that Harry wants him like this and that he can make Harry feel good in return. Harry's palm is rubbing in the best way over Liam's cock and Harry's got his leg up a bit, nearly wrapped around Liam's thigh as he gets himself off using Liam's body. Liam's so hot with the crowd around him and how Harry's got his dick twitching in his pants, spurts of precome leaking at the tip, and if they go on too much longer it's going to be more than that leaving a dark spot on his jeans.

Whatever song is on fades out, just leaving these synth sounds to the beat. Harry's lips follow the line of Liam's jaw, teeth nipping at his lobe, and his voice is loud and clear as he speaks.

“Want you to fuck me, want you so bad, Li.” Liam groans and loses his grip on Harry's waist at what Harry is saying. “Please, Liam.”

It's the “please” that does Liam in. He's never felt so wanted, so needed as Harry makes him. This is what he's been missing, this is what he's denied himself by waiting around for something that obviously was never going to happen again. He could have found someone this year. Someone to want him like Harry does. Someone to touch him with such need and lust. Liam's lit up from the inside out at how Harry's making him feel. It's overwhelming and it's too much but not enough at the same time, and Liam doesn't even have the words to explain what he feels to Harry. Not that it matters; he's pretty sure with how hard his dick is and how keen he's been to touch Harry that Harry gets it.

The moment Harry shifts back enough for Liam to turn his face he catches Harry's lips in a bruising kiss. He's left with the coppery taste of blood on his tongue when he pauses to get a breath because he knows what Harry's asked him and he wants it, he really wants it. Wants to strip Harry naked and taste the ink that stains his skin and feel every part of Harry that Harry's willing to give.

“Let's get out of here, yeah?” Liam says, and Harry nods, leaning in to suck at Liam's neck right over where his birthmark is, and Liam ruts up into Harry's hand as he does so.

He grabs at Harry's hand and squeezes tight until with the slightest feel of hurt where Harry's actually _bitten down_. Harry looks back at him with a wicked grin and nods toward the exit. Liam turns and leads them out, every brush of Harry's thumb over his skin sending this warmth through Liam's body that's nothing like platonic or friendly, it's something more.

They make it through the crowd quick enough and Liam's got a good idea where the gate is that'll get them out to the car. Thank fuck they pushed the seats down before they went in; Liam had even insisted in rolling out their sleeping bags to give the interior a softer feel. Not that they'd need it, Harry had said, considering they'd probably just pass out in there at the end of the night. Funny how Liam can't think about wanting to sleep right now.

He's turning to get the keys from Harry when he's overcome by Harry's body pushing him up against the door. The hard lines of metal and plastic press into his back and Harry's hands are on his face, guiding how their lips move together. Liam flails for a moment then grabs at Harry's waist, tucking his thumbs into Harry's belt loops and pulling him in as Harry's tongue invades Liam's mouth. His cock presses against Liam's with the denim between them not exactly giving the best of friction, and _fuck_ he just wants to get off and to get out of these clothes so he can get Harry off, too.

He's never felt so turned on in his _life_ and Harry's at his ear again, nuzzling at his neck with his teeth and tongue, and Liam can barely even hold on.

“Christ, I just—I want to feel you fill me up with that cock of yours, fill me up and stretch me out and I want it, I want you so much. So much,” Harry says before dropping his head and panting at Liam's neck. Liam's hips stutter up and he barely chokes out a “Me, too” in reply before Harry's pushing him to the side and unlocking the door. They giggle as Harry tries to get his leg up and and then they're climbing in and Liam's chasing Harry on his hands and knees as Harry shuffles awkwardly on his back, one hand at his fly and the other pushing him up the makeshift bed. He looks flushed and wrung out and his skin is nearly glowing in the light from the moon outside. Liam wants to run his tongue over every inch of him and he realises that he can because Harry would want him to. Harry _wants_ him and Liam is overwhelmed by that but in the way that he feels powerful almost. Like doing this with Harry in the back of a car at a bloody party—rave, more like—is absolutely the right decision.

Everyone has first-time stories. This might as well be his.

So Liam pushes the whole perfect idea of how he wanted to lose the next part of his virginity right to the back of his mind. He'll forget about soft beds and pillows and words of love and he'll focus on Harry and how Harry is looking at him with his teeth firmly embedded in his bottom lip. He'll focus on how eager Harry is to have him, the tips of his fingers as they skate over Liam's skin after nearly ripping his shirt from Liam's body. He'll watch as Harry's eyes darken and it's not just because the car light is dimming, being replaced by the white of the moon outside. He'll focus on the tremor in Harry's fingers as he tries to undo Liam's fly, how he laughs and shakes his hands before trying again and his little crow of triumph that Liam swallows up with his mouth when Harry finally succeeds.

Liam can let Harry take the lead. Harry who's had sex before, and Harry whose bum is so very, _very_ white as he leans into the front seats, fiddling around in the glove box as Liam strips himself of his shoes, socks, and jeans in the limited space between the flat car seats and the roof. Harry's grumbling in the front, then he returns, fist held aloft curled around a small tube that Liam barely sees before Harry's flicking the cap and tipping it into his hand. The tube lands on the blanket but Liam's not looking at a label or anything, not when Harry is bending his knee up awkwardly, brow furrowed as his hand disappears in the space underneath. Harry moans, eyelids slipping closed, and Liam chokes because he isn't prepared for how watching Harry do this—watching someone who isn't in the porn he might have got a friend of Niall's to get for him—makes him feel.

Liam's so focused on the sounds Harry is making, the way his face has gone lax and just filled with bliss, that he forgets that he's a part of this. That he's going to _fuck_ Harry because Harry is actually preparing himself and Liam's just . . . watching.

“Come on, Li. Can't really do all of this on my own,” Harry says, blinking up at Liam from where his arm is shifting back and forth under him, and Liam swallows hard and nods.

With his free hand Harry throws a foil square at Liam that Liam didn't even see him bring back from before. His face must say what his inner thoughts do if Harry's little giggle and “My step-dad likes me to be prepared, he's always filling the car with the things. I think he thought it was funny till I started using them.”

Liam laughs, and the jumble of nerves that had started tangling themselves into a ball in his stomach start unravelling. He fumbles about trying to open the damn thing until, with a snort, Harry stops what he's most definitely enjoying to reach up and pluck it from Liam's shaking fingers. Liam feels all sorts of inadequate when Harry rips it open with his mouth, holding the latex between forefinger and thumb in a way that Liam remembers the school nurse doing when they were shown _how_ to do this, but Harry makes it look completely the opposite of clinical.

Liam's hips stutter forward the moment Harry's hand wraps around his dick, his body curving up so he can kiss Liam at the same time. If he's trying to get Liam's mind off the fact that they're about to have sex soon, it's definitely working. He should probably tell Harry that. That this is his first time and he doesn't have a real fucking clue, outside of bad porn, what the hell he's supposed to do apart from lube up and prep Harry and go slow. He should, and he considers it, but then Harry's kissing the air out of his lungs and rolling the bloody condom down, fisting Liam's length with something cool that he can feel over the latex.

Harry stares up at Liam, his eyes wide, and Liam feels like he's drowning a little as he feels Harry's hand twine with his where he had them both still at his side, unsure _what_ to do. Harry makes up for that, though, curving Liam's hand around his own dick, and once Liam's got a good grip Harry starts leaning back. He guides Liam down onto the blankets with his fingertips digging into Liam's shoulder a little and wow, yeah, they're really going to do this. Liam’s stomach starts to knot up again, all the tendrils that had started to spread out and turn into excitement rescinding that emotion and curling back in, and Liam can't _breathe_.

It's okay, though, because Harry whispers at him to “Open your eyes, Li,” and Liam shakes his head and Harry laughs that loud guffaw of his and it makes everything feel normal again. The moment Harry smiles at him all soft as he reaches out, wriggling his fingers, and Liam breathes in shakily and slides closer, the last knot disappears the moment Liam's hand joins Harry's. He leans in closer, dragging their joined hands up and over Harry's head, and Harry is just staring at him and he looks—well, Liam's thought he was gorgeous since they met, but this is different. There's this honesty about him now that Liam can't pin down and Harry's smiling like Liam is the best thing in the world right now.

And Liam hasn't really done anything at all.

Harry pulls his legs up high around Liam's waist and Liam feels his dick brush over the crease of Harry's thigh where it joins his body. He shivers because even with the latex and the lube, it still feels so good. He's had his fair share of blow jobs and hand jobs, so why does he already feel like he's only going to last two seconds inside Harry before he loses his load? Harry tugs him close again and kisses Liam with these little brushes of lips on lips and it distracts Liam from what he's doing. Distracting Liam is something Harry is apparently good at, his free hand slips between them and wraps around Liam, guiding him down and . . . .

Well, Liam isn't exactly sure how to do this, but the side of Harry's nose brushes his as their foreheads press together and Liam holds in this breath, his eyes nearly going crossed from the angle at which he's looking down their bodies. He holds this air in his lungs and holds it as the tip of his dick catches against Harry's slick hole, and then Harry's hand slides around to Liam's bum and he pulls in and Liam shifts again, then he's pushing in. He's pushing in and it's so tight, so tight, and Harry makes this long groan and bites at his lip again so hard the skin around his teeth goes white. His head tips back and Liam slides in past that first ring of muscle and it's everything he can do not to just push right into Harry because his dick is being pulled in and it's everything he read about and everything he heard about and—why did he ever consider waiting to do this?

Because Harry is perfect. Harry is breathing Liam’s name and nearly tearing the skin on Liam’s arse with his blunt nails. Harry says Liam’s name and whispers these words that should mean something, but Liam only hears this white noise as he finally bottoms out and it's just—

“Wow” is what he says when he finally breathes out and Harry squeezes their hands together where they're still joined above his head. Liam leans in and kisses the line of Harry's brow, his cheeks, and his chin and repeats a mantra of “Don't fucking come, don't fucking come” until the words blend together into one long string that he can't _stop_.

“You're so—” Harry starts, licking his lips that are so red and so plump and look torn from where he's had his teeth into them.

Liam wants to move, he wants to just _fuck_ Harry like Harry asked, but he's not sure if he should yet. Harry might have had sex before—a lot of sex, if Zayn is anything to go by—but Liam isn't sure what he's supposed to wait for before he does what his body is nearly yelling at him to do.

“Please,” is all Harry whimpers. His hand leaves Liam's arse to chase the gooseflesh covering Liam's skin until he cups Liam's jaw and tilts his head up so their lips meet and Liam's hips move.

That—that tiny little pull out and push—is enough for Liam to want to do it again and again, and Harry's answering noises that fill the spaces between Liam's soft grunts and the slap of skin on skin just add to that need. Liam's lips trace a line over the pale skin on Harry's neck, suck a bruise on the tender flesh there as he feels Harry's dick get wet between them where it rubs against Liam's stomach, they're pressed so close. Liam just grinds into Harry, feeling the all encompassing _heat_ wrap around his cock, and Liam never wants this to end. He just wants to fuck Harry and be inside him all the time because it feels bloody amazing.

He wants to but he can't, because even as Harry's breaths are speeding up and even as Harry's “Oh, fucks” and “Jesus, yes, _yes_ ” are stringing together to become these whispered, nearly unintelligible sounds, Liam knows he's not going to last. It's just too tight and too hot and too much, and Harry is saying his name over and over now. Just Liam and Liam and Liam broken into three or four parts, and it’s not right. It makes Liam's hips stutter out of a rhythm he's only just got into, and Liam's heart skips a beat when he realises _why_

Harry's never really called him Liam. It's always been Li or Payno, or Señor Taco the night they'd got ridiculously silly with tacos, tequilla and costumes because it was raining and they were all bored. “Liam” is mostly a Louis thing, and as soon as Liam realises that, the green eyes staring up into his with this endless emotion change to blue and curls straighten into honey waves and fuck, _fuck._

He slides his hand out from Harry's and over Harry's cheek and he rests his thumb on Harry's lip and he just—it's too rude to ask Harry to shut up or call him something different. It's definitely too rude to cover Harry's mouth, but Harry solves that problem anyway, his lips slipping open so Liam's thumb slips inside the warm cavern of his mouth and he's sucking _hard_. That's it for Liam and his attempts at making this last, because he comes the second Harry's teeth graze the the fleshy pad of his skin. He collapses on Harry, burying his head into Harry's neck so Harry won’t see the tears that are forming in his eyes. The high of his orgasm fades to a tingle in his limbs because guilt takes its place. It's irrational and stupid, but Harry isn't Louis. Louis is who Liam planned to do this with. Louis, who he wanted and still wants, and who he thought he'd finished grieving for. A love lost only to be replaced by, what—drunken sex in the back of a fucking Range Rover?

He sobs and hopes Harry thinks it's something else, and maybe he does because he kisses the soft hair around Liam's forehead and down to his ear. Harry pushes Liam up a bit and whimpers a little himself as Liam remembers to hold onto himself before pulling out and tying off the condom, throwing it toward the bottom of their makeshift bed. He should be worrying about where it's landing and possible breakage resulting in sticky ankles and stained blankets, but he can't. Harry's got his dick in hand, and if Liam didn't feel like enough of an arsehole already for picturing his ex over this boy who actually _likes_ and _wants_ Liam, he does now. He bats at Harry's hand and replaces it with his own, fisting Harry's dick fast, the slick slide of Harry's precome that's coating his prick easing the way. Harry doesn't last too long, for which Liam is grateful, wanting nothing more than to lie on his side and let exhaustion and forgotten alcohol consumed earlier pull him into sleep. Harry kisses Liam's cheek and bats at his arm with the hand that he's caught some come on where he had it lying on his stomach, and Liam cleans him up with the edge of a sleeping bag he hopes isn't his own. Liam lies on his back beside Harry and tries to breath normally. Tries to lie there without looking like he's losing his mind after having sex with a bloke who actually likes him but now feeling like he cheated on the boy he loves.

He shouldn't feel like this. There's no rhyme or reason to it. If Harry hadn't said anything, had just called him Li or not said his name at all, it would have been fine. Harry lays an arm over Liam's waist and Liam can't—he just can't lie here without tears welling up again, so he rolls onto his side and tries to relax as Harry curls up behind him. Liam feels sick and he tries to close his eyes and will sleep to come, but it's mostly a lost cause with the way Harry presses his lips to Liam's shoulder and nuzzles up against him.

% % %

 

He and Harry nearly make a sport out of fucking after that.

There are only ten days until Harry and Zayn have to head back, and Harry seems determined to spend all of those fucking Liam. Liam doesn't see an issue with that.

If he fucks Harry with his eyes closed so he doesn't have to see the change in the way Harry looks back at him with green not blue eyes, that doesn't matter.

If he goes from letting Harry suck his thumb to sticking fingers inside Harry's mouth to even covering it with his hand just before he comes—there's nothing weird about it at all.

Harry says he's adventurous, kinky even.

One night Liam throws up after he knows for sure that Harry's fallen asleep. He feels awful; it's like guilt has taken up this permanent place in his stomach, but he can't stop. He can't stop.

Not when Harry looks at him like he's hung the moon and Harry smiles and tells Liam that he wants him and whispers dirty things in his ear about what he's going to do to him if he meets Harry in the loos at the restaurant where Liam's parents have taken them all out to dinner. He can't stop fucking Harry and he can't stop feeling like shit because of it, either.

It all comes to a head three days before the boys are scheduled to leave and they’re home on a rare day when no one else is in the house. Zayn and Niall have gone to the beach with Demi (who’s back from her all-girls school for a break, supposedly under Nicolo's watchful eye) and Zayn's supposed to be protecting her virtue or something. He's probably making eyes at the good-looking lad who runs the little comic store while Niall and Demi get indecent under the pier, but that's neither here nor there. Liam's parents are working and Nicola has gone back to uni early with her girlfriend, so Liam and Harry are not exactly being quiet as they roll about on Liam's bed, just snogging and Liam's sort of okay with that.

He's fine, really, when Harry rolls him onto his back and straddles his thighs. He's fine as he slides his eyes closed the minute Harry's hand goes under Liam's sweats and wraps round his cock, tugging him slow and a little dry so it pulls, dragging on his foreskin.

“Liam,” Harry says, and Liam bites his cheek at the way Harry says his name. He reaches down and grabs at Harry's hips, unceremoniously rolling them over, and Harry bounces on the bed with a laugh. Liam attacks Harry's lips then, kissing him hard and heavy as he pulls at Harry's pants—which he's lucky Harry is wearing considering he pretty much wanted to go naked all day knowing that the house was theirs alone. He gets Harry's dick out and his fingers waste no time sliding back and between Harry's cheeks where he's still a little slick from the night before. They'd been sleeping in a tent out at Old Man Cowell's with Zayn and Niall and Harry had wanted to reenact their first time, and yeah—that should have been a sign of what was to come.

“Liam,” Harry says again, his head pressing back into the pillow just to distance himself from Liam's lips, but Liam just pushes his finger in and it's probably a bit too much too soon from the way Harry gasps but it does the trick. It quiets Harry and Liam goes back to kissing him, brushing their lips together and making himself ease up. It's not Harry's fault he makes Liam wish he was someone else. It's not Harry's fault that Liam can't handle the way Harry says his name and the way Harry's beginning to look at him like he wants something more. It's not Harry's fault that Liam won't hold his hand, ignores the way Harry's smile falls every time he refuses.

It's not Harry's fault at all, and Liam should stop this. Stop it right now.

Then Harry's arching into his touch and he's rubbing his leg against where Liam's hard, and Liam thinks, fuck it, it doesn't have to _mean_ anything at all. Harry's only here for the summer, right? He's only got Harry for three more days and he'll probably never see him again. Never have to wonder if Harry wants Liam as much as Liam wants him. Never have to wonder if an hour between sending a text and receiving an answering one means that Harry isn't interested anymore. He'll never have to wait and wait and hope that Harry will just show up next year, because Harry won't. Harry's just for the summer. A holiday fling that Liam can forget about the moment the air turns cold.

He ignores Harry's voice after that, just goes through the motions of prepping Harry's hole with one then two and three fingers and the lube he digs out from under his pillow. He makes a point of not looking at Harry's face as he slides the condom on and stares at the ink on Harry's chest that he got when they arrived, two birds that frame his collarbones, and Liam slides in with little hesitation. His mouth finds Harry's nipple and one hand slides under Harry's knee, lifting him up a little so the angle changes, and whatever Harry was saying just turns to moans.

Liam fucks in and he licks at Harry's skin and he sucks the words from Harry’s mouth with his tongue and his lips, and when he's done and he pulls Harry off he gets up and hits the bathroom.

He hasn't looked at Harry once. Hasn't said a word, and while he scrubs his skin in the shower he doesn't think about anything at all.

So when he comes back and Harry isn't there, he just lies down and hopes Harry's gone downstairs to watch TV or cook lunch or something. He can't be bothered to look.

% % %

“You fucking _fuck_ , Liam!” is all Liam hears as a pillow slaps his face. He opens his mouth and eyes but Zayn hits him again and repeats the words. Zayn's sitting on Liam and Liam could easily knock him off but he's too busy trying to get his hands between Zayn and his feather pillow and his own face.

“Harry's gone, Harry's fucking left and he didn't even say goodbye, but I know, I _know_ it was you, you fucking cunt!”

“You've been spending too much time with Niall,” Liam says, because he can't process much else what with his head being nearly bashed in by a bloody pillow.

“I can't believe you, Li. I really can't,” Zayn says, dropping the pillow. Liam cautiously opens one eye to see that Zayn's really upset. His hair is a mess and his face is red and his eyes look like they could probably shoot laser beams at Liam right now.

Liam feels the guilt in his gut turn to shame and it rises, bubbling to the surface, and Liam isn't sure if he's going to vomit it all up or cry instead.

“I'm sorry” is all he manages to gasp out as crying wins and the sobs start and fuck, he made Harry leave. He made Harry _leave_.

It's like the word or Liam's sudden onslaught of watery eyes and hiccoughs take all the anger out of Zayn and he drops down on the bed beside Liam, close but not touching. Liam fists his hands into the sheets and blinks, staring at the roof, because it _is_ all his fault.

“You used him. That wasn't nice Li,” Zayn says softly, but it has this hard edge—and Christ, Liam needs to apologise to him, too. Harry was Zayn's friend before any of this. And Liam knows how hard Zayn finds it to make proper friends. They're very alike in that way.

“I'm so sorry,” Liam says, and he means it, he does. He knew what he was doing was wrong and it never should have happened. He regrets some of it because sometimes he let Harry in and it was nice, it was nice to have someone like him and it was nice to like someone back.

Then Louis would enter his head and he'd just fuck Harry a little harder.

“I know. It's so unlike you, Li. You don't—you don't do that to people, you have morals,” Zayn says, and Liam snorts, a snot bubble forming and disappearing as he does. “Well, I thought you did,” Zayn says with a sigh.

“I do. I did. I don't know. I was just so sad and Harry wanted me. He really wanted _me_ , Zayn. And it—it felt nice, I suppose.”

“You can't be that person, though. You can't use people like that, Li. I would have thought you'd know better.” And that hurts, because he should have. He treated Harry just like he felt Louis had treated him, and Liam knew firsthand how bad that felt and he did it anyway.

“You're right. I'm a cunt,” he says, and Zayn laughs, whacking at Liam with the back of his hand then turning it and leaving it there until he sighs and finds Liam's hand instead, winding their fingers together.

“You're not a cunt. You're a bit of a bastard and I really, really hate what you did to Haz, but look.” He goes quiet and Liam waits, swallowing past the lump in his throat and past thoughts of how he could try to fix this with Harry. Because he does like Harry. He just shouldn't have tried to like him more when it was virtually impossible. His heart doesn't have room for two no matter how shattered it is.

“You can't just hurt people because you're hurting. Making someone else feel like shit just to dull your own pain for a second isn't right, Li.”

“I really _am_ sorry,” Liam whispers, clinging that bit harder to Zayn’s hand. He wants to turn and have Zayn wrap him up and hug him tight until all the pain inside his chest fades, but he isn't sure Zayn could hug him hard enough, long enough for that to happen.

Or if Zayn would even hug him at all.

“I'm sorry, too,” Zayn says, and it could mean a lot of things but Liam hears the difference in his tone. The anger at what Liam has done is gone and it's replaced by a familiar emotion when it comes to talks like this with Zayn. It's pity. And it's an apology about Louis.

Louis, who broke Liam's heart.


	6. 2011 ~ Liam is 18, Louis is 19

**2011** ~ _Liam is 18, Louis is 19_

  
His hair is different.

It's not exactly what stops Liam right in the middle of the restaurant with a stack of plates on his tray ready to take into the kitchen and wash, but it is one of the things he notices. Louis, in Liam's restaurant, looking exactly the same as he always has. Apart from the hair. His hair is different but Louis' smile is the same when he looks across the room and Louis must have grown a little because this girl is around his height as he pulls her in. This girl with flowing brown hair and nice legs that look long, but that could be the way her dress flares around mid-thigh or the ridiculous heels she has on. Liam's entire world slows to a standstill as Louis pulls her in, hands fitting tight around her waist, and her lips meet his in what looks innocent like a church kiss but from how close their bodies are screams, “YES, WE HAVE SEEN EACH OTHER NAKED” in obtrusive capital letters so loud Liam wonders that it's not lit in flashing neon lights over their heads.

They kiss and she smiles up at him and Louis nuzzles their noses together and well, fuck. Liam loses it. Literally, even. His hold on the tray in his arms just disappears completely and it falls to the floor, crashing so loudly in the busy room that Zayn probably heard it back home in Bradford. It falls and all the sound that had somehow disappeared from Liam's ears now comes flooding back in with the shocking _quiet_ all around, but also because Louis is staring in his direction. Louis is staring and there's this recognition in his blue eyes that even over the distance between them Liam knows is a double take and then something else before it settles into “Oh, you.” Liam can't have that. Can't have Louis in his space or nearly him at all and he's cursing the moment he asked his mum to find out if Caroline had any other jobs going over the summer to add to Liam's already nearly full schedule of days at the ice creamery and weekends at the gym. He's had to give up the gym, but Paul didn't mind—Liam still comes in to work out when he can and Caroline pays well and the tips have been great once she let him move out to wait tables during the lunch rush on weekends.

Pretty sure he'll be back to being dishpig after this.

He bends down quickly, hating how hot his face has got, as he picks up the larger chunks of leftover food and tries not to cut himself on the plate shards. He's not looking up. Can _not_ look up because he can hear the laughter and he can hear Gina making some joke at his expense that will have the restaurant forgetting what he did for a while. Well, at least until they're headed home and he can be something they joke about in the car. “Remember when that waiter dropped those plates? Thought his face was going to go as red as the napkins, love!” Which, yeah, isn't exactly something Liam wants—no one likes being the butt of a joke—so he tries to clear the mess quickly. He's definitely ignoring how there are footsteps coming closer across the wooden floor. They're coming his way, and without looking up entirely he knows whose they'll be.

It's not too hard a guess, really. Caroline won't leave the bar—she'll be too busy working out how much to take out of Liam's pay. Jesy and Rebecca will already be arguing about who takes over Liam's tables while he cleans up, and Jade is probably smoking out in the alley behind. He knows the way Matt walks across the floor, all heel-toe, and Aiden is more a shuffle and scrape. It won't be either of them, anyway. Ever since Aiden met Matt after Aiden _begged_ Liam to get him a job, too, Aiden's been getting off with the restaurant's newest sous chef in the fridge at every opportunity. It's one of the reasons Liam's stopped eating the free breakfast or dessert that Caroline offers all of her workers when they work the morning or late shift. It's nice, really, that Aiden has Matt after his big gay freak-out just before they left college. It stopped Aiden from trying to talk Liam into being his guinea pig for snogging and blow jobs and the like. It'd only worked once—Liam had been incredibly high from the weed Niall had been given or had taken in the form of payment for _something_.

Honestly, Liam hadn't a clue what Niall was up to nowadays, only he'd left college before his final year and there had been more trucks going in and out of Old Man Cowell's place recently, or so his dad had commented on. Liam wasn't sure that Niall's new occupation was entirely legitimate, but Niall's dad _was_ a police officer so it couldn't be that bad.

Then again, maybe that's why he always told Liam it was better if he didn't ask.

Liam lets himself wonder if Niall might make an exception and let him in on whatever it is, because Niall always has money and after tonight Liam might not want to face this place ever again. Maths was never his strong suit—nor English, either, but every business needs a book man, doesn't it? Someone to keep track of all the money going in and out and, well, Liam doesn't have to know _exactly_ what the money is for and it would probably be easier for Niall that way. Maybe he can skive off after this and ring Niall and Niall will come pick him up in that hotted-up Jeep he has and it'll be fine. He can escape having to see Louis with this girl and having to watch as they order one plate of spaghetti and meatballs, even though they don't serve it here, and then somehow they'll both end up sucking down the same long noodle until they're kissing and _wow_ , he spent far too much time watching _Lady and the Tramp_ last night.

It was on TV and he was too tired to get up and change the channel.

And he most definitely did not cry at the ending.

He was _tired_ , all right?

“Liam?”

Liam doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate, just shifts the handful of mashed potatoes onto the one plate that _didn't_ break. He doesn't stop even when his eyes flick up a little and he sees white Toms that he knows are Louis' favourite. He plucks up a piece of steak that now has a few errant white china bits in it and bites his lip as a piece slices into his thumb.

“Liam,” the voice says again, and why is he here? Why now? Why now after Liam spent a year forgetting about him, figuring he'd never have to see Louis again because he was at uni and Liam only had this year to wait out before he went to one himself? He and Zayn had gone looking around the Manchester campus and it had been a little awkward when they'd caught up with Harry at a café, who'd been doing the same thing himself, but it was all right. It would have to be, considering the three of them would be flatting together come mid September. It wasn't Liam's immediate choice, but Zayn had insisted and Harry had said that he didn't mind and, well, it was cheaper and the places they began looking at because of it being three of them ended up being a whole lot nicer than Liam had originally set himself up for. Not fantastic—but no gutters full of vomit or alleyways smelling like piss, either.

“I know it's you, I can see your birthmark.”

Of course. He hasn't stopped shaving his head—likes how he doesn't have to wash it, really, just run some bubbles of his body wash over his scalp and he's done. It has nothing to do with how Louis liked it long. It has nothing to do with how old pictures of his curls make him feel sick about what happened with Harry. But birthmarks are dead giveaways. Liam has no way he can really get out of that now, so he picks up the last few brussel's sprouts (why anyone would order them is beyond Liam, disgusting little things) and considers looking up. It probably will kill him, though, so he continues searching the floor for more chunks and blots down the gravy with the tea towel he has slung over his forearm.

“Hi,” he says, because that's all he can manage. Liam's heartbeat hasn't slowed since he first spotted Louis across the room although it definitely stopped for a moment when he dropped the plates and sped up once more when Louis called his name. He doesn't get up from where he's crouched on the floor, though. Just continues picking up the smaller pieces of plate now, a little quicker than before because he _needs_ to not be here.

“Hi,” Louis says back, but it's not the same, it's a little off, like a question, and Liam doesn't have the answer. He has nothing for Louis at all.

Liam scrambles to get as much of the mess off the floor as he can, as much as Caroline will let him get away with, before he can escape to the kitchen and perhaps beg Josh to go out and clean up the last of it. He can't be out here anymore. He feels sick to his stomach and it's not entirely to do with embarrassing himself breaking dishes and a lot more to do with who is in front of him and can't take a hint to leave him alone.

“Do you work here now?” Louis asks, and Liam snorts—can't help himself because “Yes,” he says in a clipped tone. Hurt has given way to anger that Louis is here, spoiling his life once more.

“Yeah, right,” Louis says with a half-hearted chuckle, “uniform and all.”

Liam rolls his eyes, and fuck it, he can't be arsed to care if someone falls on the tiny amount of goopy food that's left on the floor. He can't be here with Louis with this _girl_ of his so close and he just—he can't be here at all.

“Liam—” Louis starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish it. Liam's already standing, careful not to catch Louis' eye at all, and turning toward the kitchen. He doesn't look back. Just concentrates on not falling over and blinking away the stinging in his eyes because he won't—will _not_ —cry over that boy anymore.

It's a whole other world when he makes it through the swinging doors. There's Britney Spears blasting through the tiny speakers which means Rylan won on what music they had tonight, and it also means Head Chef Henry will be a prickly bear if Liam even considers asking if he can finish up early and go home. He dumps the tray's contents in the bin and heads to the sink to wash his hands and grab a band-aid for the cut on his thumb that stings—a much larger slice than he'd previously thought. He takes the ribbing about being a klutz from Jade, when she appears at his side, with a good-natured shrug and says nothing when Carlos gives him stick from where he's plating up, too. His quiet isn't unusual—he's been here long enough that he doesn't have to talk when he isn't up for it and they understand. Josh pops up at his side while Liam's sticking the last tab of the plaster on and says he'll take care of out front. Liam claps him on the shoulder with his good hand in thanks.

Liam's still shaking from seeing Louis—seeing Louis _here_ , of all places—but he manages to hide it well, telling them he's going out for some air, and no one says a thing. He steps through the kitchen with ease and gets a face full of steam before he's outside in the alley that's lined with crates and garbage and he can hear muffled groans from his left and—yep, Matt and Aiden are at it again. They're bound to get the shaft if Caroline finds them this time—she warned them both about work fraternisation or something when she found Matt with his pants around his ankles and Aiden on his knees in her back office when they thought she was out for the day. But Caroline has a soft spot for boys with big brown eyes and Aiden turned on the charm and somehow they were let off scot-free. Well, mostly—Aiden did have to cut up any onions, potato, and garlic for a solid week.

So when he hears the clack of Caroline's notoriously high heels Liam gives a loud cough and kicks at the crates to his left before resuming his position with back against the brick wall, one knee bent so his foot is pressed against it. It's times like these when he wishes he were a smoker, but apart from the odd bit of weed he really can't get into it. Shouldn't get into it—not with uni coming up and track and, yeah, the Olympics will definitely be out if he keeps smoking up—but if there ever was a time to take an edge off anything, it would be now.

“Payne,” Caroline says, her tone curt, and she's already got a fag between her fingers—probably sparking it up as she opened the back door.

“I'm so sorry, Caroline—” Liam starts, but she shushes him with a wave of her hand, smoke pouring from her pursed lips.

“It happens—not often and it's been deducted from your wages, but—” She shrugs, breathing in another lungful of smoke. She tilts the hand with the cigarette toward him but he shakes his head.

“I just—I'm not feeling too well,” he lies—well, sort of, because his stomach is still in knots and his breathing isn't quite normal either. His fingernails are pressing into his skin where he's got his arms crossed and he just—he really needs to go home.

Caroline gives him a look, eyeing him closely for a moment, then she nods, tilting her head back and blowing out another long stream of smoke. “Sure, you should take off. I'll have someone cover your shift. I'm sure Grimshaw won't mind considering he's been hiding out here with Cardle for half the night anyhow; do him good to actually work instead of get laid. It's not like I pay him for getting off,” she says loudly, still looking at Liam. His eyes widen and she smirks as Matt and Aiden appear from around the corner looking thoroughly sheepish and thoroughly ravished, if Aiden's messed-up quiff and Matt's untucked shirt are anything to go by.

“Boys,” she says with a slight smirk as they walk into the building. Once they're inside she taps the ash from her cigarette with one long red nail. “You never take any time off—you even came in when you had that horrible head cold the second week you were here. Just go home, Payne. I'll see you first thing tomorrow.”

Liam smiles despite how bad he feels because for all her bite, Caroline is actually quite lovely. His mum adores her. “If you're sure,” he says, and she nods while taking in another lungful of smoke, then stamps out the cigarette underfoot as she blows it nearly straight back out.

“Go. Tomorrow at five.”

Liam goes to thank her again but she waves him off and he just smiles, hoping it'll be enough, as he heads out the alleyway to where his car's parked behind laundromat. He finally learned to drive just after his birthday and he's had his license now for three months but it's still a novelty to drive _everywhere_. He's swinging his keys around one finger when he's about three steps away before he turns. “But I don't work tomorrow,” he says, brow furrowed.

“You do now.”

Liam's shoulders slump even more because he had plans with Niall tomorrow to head out to Preston. Niall had business or something there and Liam was looking forward to just getting away for the day. Now even that's been taken away and although it's not really his fault, Liam blames a certain blue-eyed, caramel-haired boy for it anyway.

% % %

 

It's been hours and he still can't shut his brain off.

Why here? Why now? Why?

He hasn't heard from Louis since it all ended so weirdly over a year ago. Neither have Zayn or Niall, for that matter, but neither of them were anything as close as Liam and Lou had been. There have been no phone calls, no texts. He gave up writing letters when none came back and the few he sent to Louis' dorm had been returned unopened. But that was a year ago and since then he's had and fucked up Harry, and since that summer ended and his final year of college began Liam has worked increasingly hard at just shoving Louis and all they'd had and all he'd hoped for out of his head. If Louis can do it—and he obviously has done—then Liam can, too. He went out drinking a lot more and his grades suffered a little until he was at the gym one night when he'd been working over the speedball and Paul got him talking.

Well—he hadn't exactly asked nicely, just put it in words that Liam understood.

“What the fuck is wrong with ye?” he'd asked as Liam had stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow and walking over to the punching bag where Paul was already holding it at the ready.

Liam shrugged because he wasn't ready to talk, didn't want to tell Paul of all people how he'd fucked up over the past summer and fucked over a really nice lad just because he'd been fucked over himself. But he did. He punched at the bag, taking out all the things that he hated that he'd let himself do and feel, and finally all his thoughts about how much Louis had hurt him. Hitting and hitting and _hitting_ until his body was numb and there was only the thwack of leather and he actually knocked the bag into Paul and off its hook when he finished with a hard kick. Liam was pretty much mortified because he'd _never_ hit Paul on purpose and he'd never actually seen anyone except Marty, who was actually a _professional_ , break a bag.

“Better now?” Paul asked once Liam had gotten over his shock and started apologising profusely with his hand out to help Paul up. Paul knocked it away and stood on his own, laughing and brushing sand from his chest.

That was right about the time Liam noticed he'd split the bag open, too, and his face could not have _been_ any redder.

“'s all right, kiddo. Was an old bag. Y'got all your feelings sorted?”

Liam nodded, and then shook his head because “No, not really. I've been a bad person, Paul. And I'm not sure how to fix it.”

Paul had looked him square in the eye and given him what was probably old advice and definitely something his Dad had said before. Yet this time—maybe because he'd worn his body out completely, Liam's mind could listen. “You do your best, that's all y'can do.”

It hadn't been anything revolutionary or uplifting, but it was honest and It was easy enough for Liam to follow.

A light wind is making the shadows of tree branches outside his window dance across his ceiling as Liam lays on his back and tries to put the evening from his mind. It's so completely unfair that as he's readying to start his new life Louis has to appear out of nowhere, still looking exactly the same and making Liam's heart ache in ways he thought he'd gotten over. Or at the very least become better at ignoring.

It isn't as if he's done nothing interesting himself in the last twelve months. He certainly hasn't moped as he did the year before when things went pear-shaped with Lou. He's taken Paul's advice and cut back on the partying—knuckled down for his A levels and even without his scholarship for track he'd have ended up going to uni anyway. He's not exactly been alone all year, either; Dan came back to town for a while and he and Liam picked up where they'd left off. This time they'd been a bit more physical but it was still like they were mates; they both knew there was an expiry date. When Dan had to head back to uni they hugged and that was that.

So Liam's okay. He's fine. He's got his mates, he's got his work, and at the end of August he's skipping out of town early to get settled with Harry and Zayn in their flat. That does worry him a little. There wasn't really time to explain everything to Harry when they met up in Manchester. It was just Liam and Zayn drinking ridiculously sweet coffee and sharing a sandwich because they didn't realise how much the coffees were going to cost. Harry'd appeared on his own and Zayn had flagged him over and it was so, so awkward until Zayn got up to smoke and Liam had been left with Harry on his own. An uncomfortable quiet descended and Harry stared at his mug and Liam wiped his hands on his jeans and looked anywhere but at Harry. It was ridiculous because they'd seen each other naked, had whispered words into each other's skin, and yet here they were with nothing to say. Liam cleared his throat after a minute, then caught Harry's eye and apologised. Harry shrugged and it wasn't enough, but it was all they had time for before Zayn returned and conversation started up again like the lull from before had never even happened.

Thinking about what it's going to be like when they're finally all living together does nothing to ease the tension in Liam's bones and he grabs the pillow from under his head and punches it in the air. He sticks it back under his head and he can feel the nonexistent lumps as much as he did before and Liam just—he needs to stop this.

He can't let Louis turning up out of the blue affect him like this. Can't let how he caught the scent of Louis' cologne when he leaned down close be something he thinks about. He can't let how blue Louis' eyes looked, even from a distance, make his heart ache. He can't let how much he wanted to slip his fingers into the quiff Louis now wears his hair in, mess it up so he has a fringe again and look like the Louis he remembers, play in his mind.

He can't _think_ about Louis. He can't.

He can't keep watching the slow-motion replay of how Louis kissed that girl, either. How his smile met his eyes and he was just _looking_ at her at that stage. How his eyes lit up when she got closer and how his hands looked like they belonged on her, like they were meant to fit curved around her waist. Liam can't stop the growl of frustration at the situation he's letting himself get into just _thinking_ about Louis' hands. Of how those hands felt on him. How soft Louis' fingertips could be and then hard at the same time as they pressed in below Liam's hip bones when he sucked Liam off. Louis had got so good at that—or maybe he just got to know Liam's body and where to press hard and where to tickle light and just how easy it was to get Liam off with the simplest of touches. Liam ignores how his dick is swelling in his sleep pants. He hates that he's getting hard from thinking about Louis and how they moved together. Of how it felt so right just to kiss him and how amazing it was each and every time he made Louis come, the little sounds he made so ingrained in Liam's memory it's like they're a symphony against the night noises outside.

He can't _do_ this.

Liam rubs the heel of his hands into his eyes in hopes that it'll push all thoughts of Louis from his mind. It works—in a way. He's mostly got fiery flashes of reds and yellows like fireworks behind his eyelids but it's something. It's not blue.

He's about to turn over on his stomach and will himself to go to sleep when there's a ping outside his window, almost as if something was hitting the glass. Liam considers getting up but it's hot and he's just not in the mood for any shit the local kids are up to, bored at what is sure to be well past midnight and Liam has to be up at four for work and—no. He's got enough of his own drama without getting involved with anyone else's, thanks. There's another ping, and when he opens his eyes he sees something that looks small and white and much like the rocks his mother has around her rose bushes fly straight through his window. He'd opened the windows up wide tonight because there was a great breeze off the ocean and now—this?

Liam doesn't have time for this. Wallowing in self pity and disgust is one thing, but he has to _work_ in four hours or less and he could have been falling asleep. Possibly.

He gets up and he's leaning over to pick up the pebble that is most definitely from his mother's garden when another one hits him square in the back of the head. He winces and rubs at the spot with one hand and turns to the window, prepared to give whoever is down there the whisper-shouted bollocking of a lifetime.

He's completely prepared for the small group of youths he's seen ducking in and out of Niall's father's shed and sometimes around Nialler when he's doing “business” that Liam “isn't to worry about.” He's prepared even to see Old Mr. Geoffrey's from two houses down hitting the wrong window in his strange elderly attempts to woo Mrs. Fletcher (which he's done before, scarring Liam's mum for life by turning up in a bloody trenchcoat and nothing else one night). But he's not at all prepared for Louis to be standing there, his arm pulled back ready to let another rock fly at Liam's window.

Louis stops, his hand raised awkwardly above him, and smiles sheepishly up at Liam.

Liam blinks and doesn't even hesitate. “What are you doing?” slips from his mouth a lot louder than it would have if it had been the lads he was expecting.

Louis bites at his lip and he looks exactly like he did at the restaurant—tight black jeans, black jacket over a white button-down, and he looks . . . he looks just like he could have stepped out of that production of _Grease_ he starred in during his final year. He looks like everything Liam wants. Wanted.

Past tense.

“Hi,” he says, and Liam snorts.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, this time at a lower level because his mum is a light sleeper and she'll either be happy or really angry at the appearance of Louis. Happy because she always loved Louis, even when he hurt Liam, but angry because he _hurt_ her boy. Liam still hasn't told her everything but he knows that she talks to Zayn when he calls, and Niall can't keep his mouth shut if Liam's mum is offering food. So she knows a lot.

“I wanted to talk?” Louis says, like it's a question that Liam can say yes or no to. And he wants to say no. Wants to tell Louis to fuck off and mean it. Wants to tell him to leave and never return, like he's Smeagol telling Gollum to go.

“At two in the morning?” Liam guesses.

Louis steps closer, looking down at his watch where a little green light comes on, and then up at Liam. “Three, actually.”

And that's just worse. He's going to be a complete zombie at work later and he's already broken plates and is probably on Caroline's shit list, but.

“Please, just for a moment,” Louis says softly, but there's this pleading to his tone that Liam recognises and maybe he should do this. Maybe he should go down there and say all the words to Louis that have kept him awake so many nights that he can't keep track of what he did and didn't speak in dreams.

He takes a deep breath and watches Louis blink and blink again, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

“Fine.”

Liam doesn't look to see Louis' reaction. He turns and pulls a shirt on that may or may not be dirty—he doesn't have to dress up for this. For Louis. He pads down the stairs, minding the fourth from the bottom that creaks, and opens the door slowly because the hinges need oiling—a job his mum has been asking him to do now for the past three weeks and he curses himself for putting it off.

The grass is cool under his feet as he makes his way around to where Louis is still standing. He's staring at the rose bushes that Liam and Niall had replanted one weekend when Liam finally got his cast off. Louis had sat there and laughed at them, throwing clods of dirt at their heads until Liam got jack of it and threw some of the special manure mix his mother had insisted on back at Louis, and—well, they'd all wound up having showers and using up all his mum's and sister's body washes to try and mask the smell.

Louis looks up and has this tiny smile pulling at his cheeks when Liam makes his presence known, clearing his throat and standing tall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Liam,” Louis says, and Liam tries not to feel it like a knife in his chest and fails. He blinks but he thinks that's all that his face showed.

“What do you want?” he asks, his tone as neutral as possible but even to his ears it sounds cutting.

Louis shrugs and holds his hands out to the sides, his jacket stretching out with the motion, and Liam can see even with just the streetlight how thin Louis' button-down is. Can make out the little pouch of a belly above his belt, even one of his nipples if he stares. Not that he's looking.

He feels all jittery inside as Louis answers, “I just wanted to say hello. You left so fast at the restaurant, didn't give us time to talk.”

Liam laughs and it's harsh and fleeting. “Talk?” Everything is at war inside him right now—the urge to hit Louis and his smiling face and how at ease he is with standing here in front of Liam. But he wants to hold him as well, kiss the grin from his lips and take until there's no hurt left in Liam's chest at all.

Liam tightens his grip on his arms and grinds his teeth down instead.

“Yes, I wanted—there's—” Louis stops and sighs. “I'm really sorry about . . . everything, really. Everything.”

“Sorry,” Liam says. It's slightly childish how he's parroting things Louis is saying, but somehow the less he says the less it hurts to think about what he wants to hear, what he wants from Louis.

Louis looks a little frustrated but Liam isn't going to care about that. “Yes, sorry. I know. I've got a lot to be sorry for and I am. I am,” he finishes in almost a whisper and Liam can hear it, hear the change in his tone and this is Louis upset.

Which just makes Liam's slide into anger a little easier because how dare _he_ be the one upset here?

“Good,” Liam huffs, tugging on his arms tighter, looking somewhere in the vicinity of Louis' chest. He can't look at him, not properly, but if he can keep him in his sights it will make this more real. The fact that Louis is here and saying sorry even if he hasn't put everything Liam needs to hear into words—it's a start.

“Good.” Louis copies him this time and then there's silence between them.

It should be awkward. Should be worse than when Liam was left alone with Harry at that caf but it's not, and it's worse because it isn't. It feels like nothing has changed when everything has. So much is different between them. Louis isn't in love or whatever it was with Liam anymore. and Liam isn't—he isn't. He just isn't anything.

After a while, when the night noises have started filling the spaces between their breaths, Louis starts,“Last summer—” and Liam can't, he can't go back there because it's so much, _too_ much for this hour. For any time.

“Last summer is done,” Liam says gruffly. He doesn't want to talk about that. He's worked hard to put it behind him, and even if a part of him is screaming for answers he can't let himself go back there. Even now when he's nearly shaking from a mix of anger and hurt and sadness—he can still hear Paul in his head and that's what makes him take a deep breath, raise his eyes, and force his hands to still and loosen and finally look Louis in the eye.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Tell me about the girl.” It hurts even as he says it, the pain in his chest making his fists curl in, his short nails slicing into his biceps through the thin cotton of his shirt, he's sure.

Louis blinks and bites at his lip before answering. “Eleanor,” he says, swallowing halfway through the word and it echoes around Liam's head— _Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor._

He doesn't know if it's worse that he has a name to go with the face.

“She's—we're here together,” Louis ends, and Liam says nothing, just tries to breathe. “She's at the hotel, asleep. Well, she was when I left. Told her I needed to go for a walk, walk off some of that chocolate pudding from your work.”

“Bit late for a walk.”

“It wasn't when I left.”

Liam doesn't know what to do with that, just watches as Louis shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“You two here on your own, then?” Liam asks when he can get in enough air to form words. Louis' head springs up and he nods.

“Yeah, just for a week. El has never been and she asked because I was always going on about what fun I've had here and the friends I've made, and—it seemed like it was time.”

Liam feels the word “friends” like a knife in his gut but he just lets his gaze fall to his feet. He turns and heads toward the seat that his dad put out here for his mum last Christmas, just so she could watch her flowers grow. He only notices that Louis is following when he sits down beside Liam. It's a small seat so there's little space between them—but it feels as vast as an ocean.

“I've known her since I started at uni. She was in my first class and we partnered up on a few things. But nothing changed until a few months ago. She knows about here, and Zayn and Niall.” He pauses. “And you.”

“Me,” Liam says, and he wonders, how much? Does she know that Liam's kissed her boyfriend? That Liam's probably sucked her boyfriend's cock just the same as she has? That Liam's tasted his skin and drunk his sounds until he was punch-drunk from it all?

“Yes. You're my best friend, Liam.”

There are so many ways Liam could answer that, but he's keeping Paul's words in his head and he will be the bigger person here. He can try.

“You staying long?” is what he says instead, and then he laughs a little because “Sorry, you already said.”

“It's okay. I just—” Louis' hand reaches out from where he had it curled around the other on his lap. Liam freezes, feels his whole body tense, and there's this loud “No, no, no, no, no, _no_ ” playing in his mind the moment Louis moves. His hand just hovers there in the space between them until he puts it down on the seat.

Liam can feel how close Louis' little finger is to his body, like this burning flame beside him, but he doesn't shift away, tries really hard not to.

“She's nice. She's lovely. And I didn't go looking for it. It just—”

“Happened,” Liam finishes for him, and it's in this tone where even Liam can hear the hurt but he can't take it back now because it's out there. How he really feels.

They're quiet again and when Louis starts talking it's so soft it's barely audible. “I'm sorry, Liam. I'm so sorry that I can't be who you want me to be. I can't.” His voice breaks at the end and Liam's body reacts before Liam's brain can. His hand covers Louis' where it sits between them and he curls his fingers around Louis' and Louis takes a shuddering breath in.

“It's fine.”

So Liam's a liar now.

“It's fine. We never had a hold on each other or whatever, just a summer, and maybe that's all we were meant to have,” Liam says, and he hates himself for the words. Can't believe them himself as they trickle from his mouth. Louis turns his hand over so their fingers slide together and holds on like he might float away otherwise. Maybe it's because he thinks Liam will.

“Just a summer,” Louis says with a weak smile. Liam turns his head to the side a little and catches sight of Louis' face, pretends not to see the wet lines that track down his cheek.

_”Do your best,”_ Paul said. And maybe it doesn't really relate here, but it does, because Liam's always felt like he was at his best when he was with Louis, so maybe this is what he needs. Maybe this is what he can be for Louis.

“Yeah,” he says, nudging Louis with his shoulder. Louis just grips his hand tighter before shifting his shoulder back into Liam.

“Yeah.”

They sit there like that, hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder, and watch the sky change, greys and purples painting everything in pale morning light. Louis stretches beside him and stands, their hands still joined together at the fingertips where Louis has his curled under Liam's.

“I should go,” he says, and Liam nods while yawning because—fuck, if the sun's rising he's probably meant to be at work already.

“So, we'll catch up soon?” Louis says, tugging on Liam's fingers a little and smiling, blinking back with tired eyes.

Liam nods again, words coming slow to his lips with how _tired_ he is now. “Sure,” he says, and because in for a penny, in for a pound, “I have to meet her properly, don't I?”

Well, he'll go that far, but saying her name is something he's going to have to work up to.

Louis' eyes widen but he just says, “Soon,” and then with one last squeeze of Liam's fingers he turns and walks down the road that Liam's seen shadows of him disappear down far too many times before.

Every step Louis takes away from Liam is his heart breaking all over again, and it hurts so much more than it ever did with every missed call or unanswered text. This is Louis physically leaving and Liam has no idea how he's going to get through the next week with Louis so close and yet so terribly, painfully far away.

% % %

 

The problem with Eleanor is everything.

Just like Harry, she's lovely. She's this completely nice human being that Liam finds hard to hate because she's just so _good_. She's everything Liam thinks a girlfriend would be—pays attention to Louis when he talks, touches him constantly but in small ways that aren't obvious to those who aren't looking closely. She listens to his friends—properly listens and asks questions about their lives and doesn't let conversation get stilted. She laughs at their jokes and by the third time they all hang out together—she and Louis and Liam and Niall, because there is _no_ way he's doing this alone—she's getting digs in at Niall that even Liam laughs at.

It's just so unfair that she's so likeable.

He says as much to Niall when he throws a “going away sort of” party for them before they head back to Sheffield in the morning. It's probably not the best of ideas, but Niall's parents are out for the night and of _course_ Liam's family have no problems with it. It's for Louis, after all. Even if Liam's mother is still hesitant about the way things are between Louis and Liam; Liam told her it was fine and she believed him. His dad, however, won't even let Louis in the house.

Liam and Niall are curled up on the sofa, a bottle of something being passed between them—Liam thinks they started out on vodka but Niall is true to his Irish heritage so it's probably whiskey or something by now. He's got his face in Niall's neck and Niall is humming along to some tune that's playing on the stereo, not as loud as before but nearly everyone has gone home. Or passed out some place. But out here in the shed, which Niall has pretty much taken over for whatever it is he's been doing this year, it's just them. Louis and El were in there earlier, wrapped around each other on the other sofa as they laughed and traded stories that had Liam smiling on the outside and hating every second of it under his skin. El had stood up and announced she needed the loo and because Louis had been staring at Liam and laughing she had to say it again with her hand tugging on Louis' to get him to notice. Liam swallowed and felt any happiness from the night fade away at what he knew she was implying.

Though she did have to spell it out for Louis that she didn't exactly need to go, she just needed the room. That had hurt and Liam had hid his face in Niall's shoulder and hadn't moved.

Which is where he is now.

“It's just.—it's not fair,” he mumbles into Niall's sweaty skin and leans back into Niall's touch where his hand is rubbing over Liam's shoulder. Niall's nice. Niall is always nice. How come Niall can't be nice to Liam?

“I am nice t'ya, ya great tit!” Niall's words buzz against Liam's lips and he's so drunk—so very drunk, if everything he's thinking is coming out of his mouth.

“You are. That's why I've not let you have the bottle in an hour or so,” Niall says, laughing and pulling Liam in.

“Top lad you are,” Liam says, pulling back from Niall and reaching up with his hand to cup Niall's face—mostly slapping it but getting there eventually. “Fucking prince among men.”

Niall fixes him with a raised brow. “You been watching those Disney films again, mate?”

Liam says no but nods anyway and Niall laughs, all bright and loud, and it makes Liam laugh, too.

He sighs, though, when they stop. “Why couldn't I have fallen in love with you? Why did it have to be like this?”

And it hurts. Drinking tonight was a bad idea because he was already missing the easy friendship he'd always had with Louis and he was missing the fact that Louis is leaving and he's never said. He's never told Louis how much he's missed him and how much what Louis did _hurt_.

“I know, mate,” Niall says, his hand covering Liam's where he's still cupping Niall's cheek, nearly squeezing it with his hold.

“He's just—he's so happy. I want to be like that again. I can't even remember what _that_ felt like,” Liam whispers. He does. He's sure he does.

Because feeling like this, aching like this not only in his heart but his whole body, has to stop.

“Would hurting him make you happy?”

Niall asks this like it's the most normal thing in the world, like he's asking Liam if he can finish his chips or drink half of his soda.

Liam leans back so he can look up at Niall, which is hard without going cross-eyed but he makes it, just. “What?”

“Just don't hit me, all right?” Niall says, and he's licking his lips and then—wow.

Niall kisses with a _lot_ of tongue.

Liam hears a gasp and then a giggle and he closes his eyes that had gone wide open when Niall grabbed at his face and kissed the life out of him. He kisses Niall back, avoiding Niall's tongue as much as possible, and he finally remembers to breathe when Niall lets him go, panting.

Niall looks hilariously proud of himself, smirk and all, and Liam just stares at him and lets Niall guide Liam's face back down to his shoulder.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Eleanor says, and Louis adds a soft apology himself, and that's when Liam realises—they were there. That's why Niall did this. Not some strange misguided attempt at making Liam happy, but because he wanted Louis to see.

Liam feels like kissing Niall right now, except things are already weird enough having done that once. He makes do with curling himself around Niall more, making it look like he can't take his hands off him, and tucks his fingers under the waistband of Niall's pants that are on show above his jeans. He digs in to the fleshy part of Niall's bum, which makes Niall squeak when he's telling some bullshit story to El and Lou about how he just can't get enough of his Liam.

All Liam hears is Niall's accent rumbling through his chest and El's laughter and the soft, girly tinkle of her voice.

He doesn't hear Louis once.

When he wakes up later the sun is high in the sky and Niall is shaking his shoulder. Louis and Eleanor are about to go.

Liam yawns and sits up slowly. His head hurts and his body is sore like he's run and, well, he remembers doing that maybe down the street? Possibly naked?

Hopefully not.

He really shouldn't get drinking with Niall.

Then he remembers the kiss and his eyes are surely comically wide and his cheeks heat.

Niall takes one look at him while handing him a beer and laughs. “Don't worry 'bout it, mate. Figured everyone else in our little circle has kissed ya, didn't want to be left out.”

Liam drinks the beer and hates that Niall is always right about this hair of the dog business and nods. “Where are—?” he manages with a wince because wow, is he hung over.

Niall throws some sunglasses Liam's way and they still have the tag on them but it's probably best that Liam not ask. “Out the front. Come on, gotta make our goodbyes.”

He holds out his hand for Liam and Liam slides the dark glasses on and lets Niall lead him out the door and down the path to the front where he can make out Lou leaning against the fence. Eleanor is already in the car.

“Tommo,” Niall says as they stop in front of Louis. Niall moves on to the car, leaning in the window and smiling as he talks with Eleanor.

Liam can't help but notice the blank look Louis is giving him. Well—an attempt at a blank look. Liam knows all of Louis' faces and this one is just a mask for the pain that makes his eyes squint a little and the corner of his lips twitch.

Funnily enough, it doesn't make Liam feel any better to see Louis like this. Like this because of him.

“So,” Louis says, and Liam echoes it because fuck knows what he's supposed to say now.

“Manchester isn't that far from Sheffield” is what he gets out after kicking at the dirt and watching Louis blink for far too long to be anything like normal.

“No,” Louis says, and then El is at the horn and calling out for them to just hug already.

That's one thing they haven't done since Louis came back. They've held hands that one time and brushed shoulders, but anything more has been this unspoken no-no.

Liam is not about to start now.

He doesn't have to, anyway, because Niall is there sticking close to his side and his arm is this weight around Liam's waist.

“Best you be going, Louis,” Niall says, and there's this edge to his tone that Liam's only heard when Niall is in protection mode—like all the times he'd be there at Liam's side when Liam was being bullied or picked on. Like he has been since he arrived—never once making Liam doubt their friendship. Liam puts his lips to Niall's forehead and throws his arm around Niall's shoulder.

“Bye, Louis,” Liam says with a smile that hurts to form.

Louis just nods and it's like there's an understanding that it's more than just for now. It's for always.

Liam and Niall stand there wrapped around each other as El's hand waves from out the window and the car disappears from view. They stand there and Niall holds Liam and Liam thinks it's done now.

He's done with Louis once and for all.


	7. 2014 ~ Liam is 21, Louis is 22

**2014** ~ _Liam is 21, Louis is 22_

Liam’s walking into Tesco’s, trying to find his shopping list in his pocket, when he runs straight into someone. For a moment he thinks it’s the glass doors; that’s happened before after pulling an all-nighter his last year at uni but he’s finished now and he’s been home on his own for a week, so he’s not that tired. Wired from too much coffee and thinking about having to go buy food for the week, but he's pretty sure there's no reason for him to be hallucinating. Not something as real as this. 

Not something as real as Louis Tomlinson standing in front of him complete with red face, soft caramel fringe, fitted black shirt, and those stupid jean shorts he used to wear all the time tight around his thighs. Liam blinks and blinks again, and “Sorry” is out of his mouth faster than he can get his brain to even catch up with what's going on—but that's mostly because his mother raised him to be polite in all situations.

“Liam?” Louis says, and his voice is the same, if it is filled with a tremor of trepidation, and Liam smiles a little because of it.

Even after three years of uni and all that's happened since, he can't _not_ like that Louis seems to be a little out of sorts meeting up as randomly as this. Which brings him to his first question, really.

“Louis, what are you doing here?”

Louis laughs, brushing his fringe back off his forehead though it doesn't need to be moved, really, a nervous tic Liam remembers. “Just picking up a few things,” he says, nodding to the bags in his hands, and Liam's cheeks heat. Of course. They _are_ at Tesco’s.

“Right.” Liam smiles himself. “But here, I mean, what are you doing here?”

“You don't own the town, Liam,” Louis says, and his eyes widen as if he realises what he said might be taken the wrong way.

“I _know_ that, Lou.” Liam comes back with ease, reaching out and pushing at Louis' shoulder without thinking about it all too much.

He does, though, when his hand actually meets Louis’ body—and then, well, it's like a shock up his arm, this warm heat that starts all intense where just his pinky finger sits over Louis’ tanned skin.

He removes his hand quickly because it's wrong how Louis can affect him like this after three years. Three long years of uni and Tom and his first year when everything was anything but blue eyes and pointy white teeth in proper smiles. Three years and it's like they don't exist—like they're right back there in that summer where Liam was young and in what he thought was love with the boy who he also thought was his best friend.

And all of this from a look and a touch.

His hand lies awkwardly at his side now and Louis is staring at the space where Liam touched and Liam can't get a read on what the look on his face means.

“Sorry, I just—”

Louis shrugs. “I guess ‘I was in the area’ isn't really going to work, is it?”

Liam shakes his head. “Not unless you’ve moved here lately.”

“I-I thought I'd come out for the day. It's summer and, I dunno, I was driving and it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Louis says, concentrating on his feet shuffling a little on the concrete. He pauses, looking up at Liam with eyes so blue they shine bright through his lowered lashes. Liam hates that he can remember the feel of them on his cheek. “Was it a good idea?”

Liam, his mouth dry, swallows before answering, “Of course. Like you said, I don't own the town or anything.” 

Maybe it would be better if he did. 

But it's Louis and he looks—he looks like everything Liam remembers loving, and maybe it's because it's his first year of freedom after studying or maybe it's because of the way Louis is looking at him or maybe it's the jean shorts. But what comes out of his mouth next has to be because of one of those things. Or all of them.

“Come over to mine?” The moment the words are out of his mouth his brain goes into overdrive, shouting at him in a voice that sounds very much like Zayn's, _“What the bloody fuck are you doing?”_

Yet his mouth continues on. “Mum and Dad are in Florida for the summer—Mum won some holiday of a lifetime thing and Nicola and Ruth don't live at home any more, so the house is empty, and—oh! The lads are all here! Niall and Zayn and Harry—well, you don't know Harry, he's a top bloke. We're having a barbecue, actually, it's why I'm here and all, so you should come.” He pauses for all of two seconds and this is the _worst_ bout of verbal diarrhoea he's ever had. “I'd like it if you came,” he finishes softly, and he bites at his lip, hoping that'll stop the words from flowing.

The Zayn in his head is going to agree wholeheartedly with the Zayn who’s probably watching Harry set up the barbecue in the backyard right now.

“Sure,” Louis says, and even he looks a little shocked at how fast he answered. 

“Great,” Liam says, and his smile feels almost genuine. 

“Great.” Louis says in return, echoing Liam's grin and maybe, maybe this'll work out fine.

Then Liam remembers that Zayn and Niall are back at the house, and even Harry knows what Louis was to Liam and what first year nearly did to Liam at uni because of Louis. So maybe it's not the best of ideas after all.

“Better give that shopping list here, then,” Louis says, snatching the paper from Liam's fingertips as he turns back into the store. “You never were good with remembering things on your own.”

“Never forgot you,” Liam whispers mostly to himself, following Louis through the doors.

% % % 

It's not as bad as Liam thought it was going to be, bringing Louis home.

It could be because when they walk around the side of the house, Liam announces his guest loudly and with certain looks thrown at his three mates, all standing around the barbecue none of them have ever used before and Liam's dad certainly hasn't in years. It's as if watching it is going to make it work properly. 

It might also help that the three of them are well on their way to a good buzz, having finished off what looks like half the case of lager Harry and Zayn brought with them. Niall's cheeks are cheery and he's the first to run up and nearly tackle Louis to the ground. He's all flailing arms and legs and Louis name elongated so it's more a sound than a word. Harry's next when Niall lets Louis up—hand out, introducing himself with his dimples out and smile wide. Liam can see there is something a little like judgement in the corner of his eyes. Zayn's last, not moving from his spot, just nodding in Louis' direction with what Liam knows is Zayn's version of a wary hello. 

So with that lukewarm welcome Liam hands Louis a drink and then sets about fixing what the boys have broken on the barbecue to get lunch started. 

The afternoon wears on with Harry at the grill and the lads swapping stories about everything and nothing in particular. The sky changes colours and Niall ducks over the fence to his parents', rolling back half a forty-four-gallon drum that his dad uses for a fire in the winter in his shed. Niall lights it up and the boys settle around it, pulling Liam's mum's garden chairs about it into a rough circle. If Liam winds up opposite Louis that's nothing but just how the situation found itself. That and he didn't want to sit beside Louis because how could he look at him and keep making sure he was actually _here_ then?

It's when they're moving the chairs that Liam finds himself alone with Louis for the second time that afternoon. Zayn and Harry are putting the last of the food away and Niall's ducked back over to his parents' again and, well, Liam didn't really think about how them doing that would leave him with Louis. Louis calls his name softly as Liam shifts a piece of wood in the fire. When he looks up it's at a nervous-looking Louis. He's got one arm wrapped over his chest gripping at the other and he's sort of slouched, which is something Louis doesn't do given his slight stature. Well—he never used to when Liam knew him well enough to know that Louis had a thing about how he was just that little bit shorter than the lads they spent the summer with. 

“What's up?” Liam asks, and he tries out a smile that he hopes doesn't show how nervous just being alone with Louis has made him. It's not that he's interested in Louis again, not for anything other than the friendship they lost. That's all it can be. That's all it should be.

“It's probably time I headed out. Not that this hasn't been nice and all, because I've loved it. I really loved it,” Louis repeats more quietly than before. 

Liam's ready to say okay. Ready to say “It was great seeing you too, let's not let another three years pass,” but then Louis is biting his lip and gazing at Liam with his eyes all blue and just—he's never been able to walk away from Louis' eyes before, why start now?

“Stay. There's a bed going spare upstairs and Niall'll either pass out out here or roll himself home and kip on his mum's sofa. You should stay.”

“I'm not putting Harry or Zayn out? I know you said your mum uses Nicola's room for her scrapbooking and I'm _not_ okay with using your parents’,” Louis says, his nose scrunching up, and Liam laughs.

“Not even _I_ could do that. It's fine, really. Harry and Zayn are in Ruth's old room and you can have mine.”

“Yours.”

Liam's brain catches up with what he's said and maybe it came out wrong, from the way Louis' eyes have widened a little. “I'll—I mean I'll take the sofa. It's fine, really.”

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head. “I couldn't put you out of your own bed. I mean, that's—”

Liam's made his way around the fire during this and he can reach out and put his hand on Louis’ arm; once more the simple touch just burns his skin. “It's fine.” He doesn't move his hand this time. Not when he notices that Louis doesn't flinch or make a move to shake him off, either. See, they can do this. They can become friends again.

“Only for the night,” Louis says, and Liam squeezes his fingers tighter on Louis’ arm. His biceps are still in fantastic condition. Liam really should let him go. It's probably a little weird. 

But he doesn't.

“Good,” Liam says with a proper smile.

“Thanks,” Louis says, unfolding his arm so he's got the soft skin of Liam's forearm in his grip and they stand like that while Liam shrugs in a way that means “It's nothing,” and it is. It's nothing to share this house with Louis. To share his bed that Liam's not used for three years because he stayed in Manchester every break, not even coming home for Christmas. It was just too much, too much to come back and easier to continue living the life he was carving out as an adult in the world of study and parties and growing up properly.

“I'll get Haz to make us breakfast in the morning. He does the best fry-up in the world, that one,” Liam says, still not moving.

“Haz,” Louis says, tilting his head a little. “You said he and Zayn were sharing, so I gather . . .” he leads off, and Liam smiles. If there was one good thing that came out of the summer Louis never came, it was Harry and Zayn.

“Yeah, Harry and our Zayn,” he starts, finally breaking his hold on Louis when he hears the voices of the couple in question getting louder as they return from the kitchen.

“Hey, Zayn, why don't we tell Louis about how you and Haz-head got together!”

And Louis smiles at Liam, returning to his seat as Zayn begins and Harry is already interrupting to correct him on details like Liam's heard them do what feels a like a thousand times before. Even though Liam was there to watch Zayn and the boy who eventually forgave Liam about their failed whatever it was one summer fall slowly in love with each other, he still likes hearing how their love story really started. It's what he's had to remind himself of for the past three years living with them amid the paper-thin walls that separate every room in the house. Because Zayn and Harry's love is never contained to the bedroom specifically, even when Liam brought in the rule about not doing it in any of their food-sharing spaces. Just because in one way or another they'd all kissed, it didn't mean he wanted to share any other bodily fluids with either of them again.

Their story of meeting and subsequent adventures starts something that Niall bringing out the moonshine or whatever it is his dad distills in the shed only continues. Then it's nearly open season on relationships and who's with who or whatever, starting with Niall, and that takes so long that they've nearly emptied the large bottle when Niall asks Liam if he's heard from Tom.

Liam feels his face heat and he has to look away from where he’s slouched low in his seat, surreptitiously staring at Louis through the flames.

Louis sits up a little—not enough to be noticeable, but of course Liam notices because he's been mostly staring at Louis all night. It doesn't hurt the way it did when he first went to uni and found a picture of them together the summer Niall arrived that his mum had packed in the bottom of his suitcase. It doesn't hurt like it did when he thought he caught a glimpse of Louis at this gay bar the first weekend he'd let Harry drag him out, watching Harry make Zayn jealous by grinding up on some near look-alike of Liam's friend. It's just this nice warmth in his chest. Like when he gets off the phone with Niall from wherever he is doing whatever he does around the country. Like when Harry hugs him from behind in the morning at their flat or when Zayn presses his lips to Liam's forehead before he and Harry disappear into their bedroom for the night. It's nice.

Well, that's what he's been telling himself, that he's just looking because Louis is _right there_. It's not as if Liam needs or wants anything from Louis. Not at all.

But now Louis is sitting up a little and saying, “Tom who?” and Liam sinks lower into his chair.

“Liam's Tom,” Niall says, like it's something Louis would know—but of course he doesn't, he hasn't been around the past three years, the last nearly two in particular. “Did he really get an offer to work at ITV?”

Liam shrugs but Harry answers for him anyway.

“Yeah, he starts there after Christmas, I think. At least that's what he said, wasn't it, Li?”

“Top bloke, Liam's Tom. Lovely lad. One to take home, that's for sure,” Niall interrupts, and Harry nods and Zayn presses his face into Harry's neck—because of course they're sitting together not apart.

Liam just sinks lower into his seat and stares into the fire.

“Nice” is all Louis says, and then Harry's piping up again.

“Much better than what's his name—Marco? The one with all the tattoos. He did grow a mean moustache, though.”

“And Other Harry, the one who played guitar in your band,” Niall says, directed more toward Harry than anywhere else.

“And Dan,” Zayn adds. “Dan was always around. Never understood why you two didn't make a go of it, really.”

“Dan's a friend,” Liam gets out, clearing his throat because “You lot are making me look like a slag.”

Niall laughs and throws what Liam thinks is a bit of popcorn from what he was munching on earlier at him. It misses and lands in the fire. “Not a slag, mate. But I'm just saying that before Tom, you did spend a lot of time making breakfast before shoving lads out the door.”

“That sounds worse!” Liam says, sitting up a little, because yes, he understands what his friends are doing. At the start it was nice to maybe rub it into Louis' face, the fact that Liam hasn't been single all this time—but this? This is getting out of hand.

“It's what you're supposed to do at uni, isn't it?” Louis says, and Liam looks back at him so fast it makes his head spin.

He really shouldn't have brought out his dad's hidden bottle of scotch when he'd gone in to get Louis a jumper after watching him rub at his arms and shiver a few too many times. It was the cream one Liam had worn the night before and left on the sofa, the thought of Louis being wrapped up in something of Liam's, something that would _smell_ like Liam, not occurring to him until now. Now, while Louis is fiddling with the cuff, stretching the wool out over his arm. The thing is so big on Louis it falls past his fingertips and slides over one shoulder. It's pulled at Louis’ shirt underneath a little so the shadows from the fire between them flicker over Louis' collarbone.

Not that Liam is looking on purpose, of course. Louis' always had nice collarbones. Liam used to love spending hours licking and pressing his teeth to every inch of them. Now he watches Louis play with the loose thread that Liam caught on a nail coming in the front door with one of his many loads of washing yesterday morning. It shouldn't make something warm unfurl in his chest and spread out, but it does.

It's probably just the scotch. It has to be the scotch.

“I mean, you experiment in uni, don't you? At least that's what I thought,” Louis ends, and a silence that is nothing like the comfortable mood between them before all this talk of boys takes up the space between them.

“How's Eleanor?” Zayn asks, this sharpness to his tone that Liam's only heard when Zayn when Zayn gets in overprotective mode over his sisters. It makes Liam wants to close his eyes and just slide off the chair and hope that the ground underneath him has turned into quicksand just so he can get away from whatever is next to come. The air has turned to this thing you could physically cut, and not even the pop and crackle from the fire can break it.

Louis clears his throat and stares at the ground, still twisting the lone piece of wool around and around one of his fingers. “Good, I guess, haven't seen her in a year or so.”

“But you moved in together!” The words tumble from Liam's mouth and that's just screwed up his entire afternoon of pretending he really didn't know that much about Louis' life because—well, he knew that, and that was all he had let himself know since his second year at uni.

It hadn't been a good time. Hadn't been good at all, really—when he'd been on the phone to his mum and she'd talked about all the things he'd missed not coming home for the summer and said that she'd seen Johanna and the girls at the pier. That no, Louis was at uni, too, and that he was moving in with his girlfriend, Eleanor, and Johanna had thought she might get her grandmother’s ring out and cleaned just in case. He hadn't really heard much of anything after his mother had said all of that, and yeah, he took it hard. Took it hard that Louis was truly moving on into a life with this girl and Liam was, what? Running about town his first year visiting gay bars in London with Harry and Zayn (before they were a thing) and then parties at home (when they were a thing) and hooking up with whomever just because they showed an interest. The boys had been hitting a little close to the truth with what they'd said to Louis earlier—Liam had got around a bit, and the names they mentioned were the few he had let himself see more than once.

It all changed after that phone call with his mum.

He didn't leave his room for three weeks of that summer break. It also didn't help that his knee, which he'd busted up coming out of a club one night, turned into something that wasn't going to be a simple fix. He'd have to either give up running or look at having virtually his whole knee replaced before he was thirty. It was another blow to add to the hurt he was already reliving and it kept him under his duvet, avoiding the light of day as much as possible. Zayn and Harry couldn't get through to him; they tried talking at him, shouting even, but nothing got Liam to move. But the lads knew Liam better than he thought. Niall arrived one cold night and climbed into Liam's bed, curling around him, and it was enough. Niall forced him up and out and they got drunk and had so many laughs that Liam forgot about how many shattered parts his heart had fallen into. Niall lived with them for three months—Liam actually threatened toward the end that he'd have to start paying rent. Niall had laughed and said he needed to get back to his “business”—something to do with music and money about which Liam still remains on a “need to know” basis. When Niall departed he left behind him a much happier Liam and a thankful Zayn and Harry for putting a smile on Liam's face. Though that smile could have had a little to do with the fit lad Liam had been having “not dates” with who he'd met at the sports centre.

Tom was great. He made Liam think that love, or at least falling in deep-like, was possible. Liam had let that possibility lead to Tom moving in with them once they'd been together for six months, and a holiday for two in the south of France because Tom was old money and he spoilt Liam enough that Niall teased him about being a kept boy. It was nice. It was kind of wonderful having someone tell him that they loved him, who didn't run away the moment they'd shared more than just a kiss and opened up about the way they felt. Liam had tried to love Tom. Tried so hard, and it did hurt when they’d broken up a few months ago, but they still kept in touch. Still maintained a friendship where before there'd been more.

“Moved in together?” Louis asks, repeating Liam's question before he lets himself think of all the things that have changed in three years.

“Yeah, that's what your mum said to mine,” Liam says—and great, now it looks like he's purposely checked up on Louis all this time when he hasn't.

“No.”

“Oh” is all Liam says in return.

Louis stands, not looking at any of them and still tugging on the end of Liam's jumper. “I think I'll head to bed. Get an early start in the morning.” 

He walks away and no one says anything, but Liam can’t let him go like this. He’s up and off his feet and following Louis into the house before the back door can even smack closed. He finds Louis in the kitchen, just standing there, and he’s got his back to Liam, doesn’t turn even when Liam says his name.

“Sorry,” Liam says when Louis doesn’t look like he’s going to turn any time soon. “Sorry about all of that, really.” 

Louis shrugs and Liam can see he’s got his hands balled up into fists, the wool tightly rolled inside them.

“I’m sorry about them, about all that stuff about me. I don’t know what they think they were doing.” He chuckles but it falls flat, much like how Liam feels inside at the moment. On edge and this ache in his chest that has nothing to do with want or hurt but more to do with how bad he feels for causing Louis to walk away from them all like that. For being the one to make Louis think he had to leave.

“It’s fine,” Louis says. “I expected worse, really,” and he just sounds so down. This isn’t what Liam pictured, what he wanted from bringing Louis back here.

“Lou, I’m sorry about you and El.” 

“Congrats about your Tom.” 

Liam makes a face because, well, “Here’s the thing—there actually _is_ no me and my Tom, he’s not _my_ Tom any more. Hasn’t been for a few months now.”

“Okay,” Louis says, and that’s all Liam expects but Louis turns around. He still doesn’t look at Liam, keeps his eyes down and his fringe has fallen across his face. Liam’s fingertips tingle with the need to push it back.

“El and I didn’t work because it was never going to. I was kidding myself that she was what I wanted. It just took me a while to see that.”

Liam feels winded because what Louis said could mean anything. It could just mean that he didn’t want her in particular, or it could mean . . . it could mean a lot of things that Liam isn’t going to let himself think about. He just takes a deep and painful breath, staring at the way the dull glow from the light above puts Louis’ face in relief and makes his pout look more pronounced, and it’s the scotch that makes him want to press his lips to the bow of Lou’s and stop that look right at the source.

“Don’t leave in the morning—stay. Stay for a few days or the week or whatever. Mum and Dad won’t be back for a week and it’s—” Liam pauses because he wants to say this right, wants to end what they started with a random meeting at Tesco’s on a better note than this. “Let’s have one last proper summer, yeah? Before we have to go and be all adult and whatever.”

Louis smiles a little, biting down on his bottom lip before it turns into a full-grown grin. Liam steps closer and his arm lifts and he’s stuck in this place between wanting to touch Louis, reassure him about what he’s saying, but he doesn’t know if it’ll be too much. Liam tilts his hand so it’s flat, hopes Louis will think he was just going in for a low five or something instead.

“You said earlier you didn’t have any plans this week. That you were headed to your mum’s for a bit. Don’t think she’d mind if you stayed with us, with me, for a little longer, do you?”

Louis snorts. “Don’t think she’d care at all if I mentioned I was spending time with you. She’d probably tell me not to even bother coming home.”

“So you’ll stay?”

Louis’ eyes roll and he sighs as if it’s a mammoth effort to make this decision. “Guess I’ll have to.” 

Liam waves his hand up at Louis a little and Louis snorts before slapping his palm against Liam’s.

“And I’ll take your bed while I’m at it.”

“Hey,” Liam starts, but he’s smiling too much to really care. The couch is not built for his long body to sleep on, but if it means he gets to keep Louis here for a little bit longer it’s a price he’s willing to pay.

% % %

 

 **2014** ~ _Liam is 21, Louis is 22_

  
“This feels a lot like deja vu,” Harry whispers into Liam’s ear, and he smiles, nodding, as they head up to a gate that actually has a proper fence and security around it now. It’s the same field at Old Man Cowell's—well, what _was_ Old Man Cowell's until he passed away earlier this year. He left the farm and land to Niall, which was odd, but from what little Liam did know they'd gotten along like a house on fire and he'd treated Niall like the son he'd never had.

It all worked out in the end because it gave Niall a base to start his company from. Or so Niall mentions toward the end of the week after Louis keeps at him on just where he's disappearing to for most of the day before returning to Liam's either late in the afternoon or night. Nialler won't say much apart from they'll find out exactly what he's been building up to on Friday night. Liam's parents are due home on Sunday afternoon so it gives the boys plenty of time after that to clean house, get wrecked, and then have a quiet day of goodbyes on Sunday. 

Louis' been helping Liam with the cleaning most of the day and they've spent a lot of it flicking towels at each other as they dust. There was even a chase around the dining room with the vacuum at one stage. Louis' attempt to put a load of washing in was met by them quickly having to scoop out suds onto the back lawn because Louis thought one cup of powder meant one actual cup from the kitchen, not the scoop in the box. They are in the middle of making each other into sudsy snowmen when Harry and Zayn come back from cleaning Harry's car, which leads to a water fight in the back yard and mud traipsed through the house for Liam to mop over once again. 

He grumbles—loudly—but truthfully he doesn't mind. The past week with all the boys in the house (or in a tent like Nialler was because he refused to be apart from the “lads sleepover” they were having) has been one of the best times Liam can remember. They are all of age now; gone are the teenage angst-filled moments and drinking and staying up all night which, while they were things they did at uni, felt a little bit more rebellious in the living room of the Payne family home. They laughed a lot, told outrageous (but truthful mostly on Niall's part) stories that had them rolling about on the floor more often than not. They drank a bit and smoked some of the weed that Niall got but refused to take money from them for. In the early hours of the morning they all fell asleep in a pile in the living room during a scary movie marathon. Liam pretends he doesn't watch Louis sleep, running his fingers through Louis' hair, head pressed to Liam's lap. 

It was nice. It was great, actually, and Liam wasn't looking forward to when it would end and Niall would go back to town, Zayn and Harry would fly out to Amsterdam to start their backpacking tour of Europe, and Liam would begin his first teaching job in Manchester. And Louis? Well, Louis was pretty vague on what he was up to, just mentioned going to Doncaster to see his mum and sisters and after that he had no set plans. Maybe he just didn't want to tell them. Maybe it was just meant to be another side of Louis that they weren't privy to, like any time any of them had asked about what he did after he’d finished uni. _A bit of this and that_ wasn't exactly an answer but Liam never pushed, even if he wanted to. He had Louis, and this Louis was the same one he remembered from before feelings ever got involved on either’s part and Liam loves that. He’s never realised how much he’s missed having Louis, his best friend, in his life.

Even if Louis has been a little . . . off with him. There've been times when they touched or tickled each other or wrestled like they used to and moments when neither of them has said anything, but a look passes between them and whatever it is is broken. Then there've been these quiet moments between them when they're the only ones awake in the morning, when Liam comes back from his run and Louis is sitting at the kitchen table sipping on his tea and has Liam's hot and ready for him to drink. They sit and they say nothing, and there've been times when they've met each others eyes over the rims of their mugs and it's—it's like they _should_ say something, anything, but then one of them will blink or look away and the opportunity is missed again. Not that Liam would know what to say. He resigned himself three years ago to never asking why Louis changed his mind—picking El over Liam and picking his life going that way over letting it twist together with Liam's. They were young and stupid in love, and maybe that's enough of an excuse. It has to be, because he's not asking Louis now. Not now when they can hug and touch and laugh together and there's not one tiny bit of hurt echoing in Liam's chest. Just happiness and a need to be around the boy he thought he'd lost.

The boy who now turns and gives Liam the best smile—Liam's smile—before taking his hand and leading them into the fray of boys dressed like fairies and girls in biker boots and _what the hell_ has Niall got into?

“So what d'ya think?” Niall asks them, nervously bouncing on his heels as he spreads his arms wide, encompassing the field of four different marquees, a line of food vans, and even market stalls to one side. 

Liam's quietly gobsmacked. So are the others. Louis is the only one who gets out a slow “Fucking hell, Nialler.”

Niall grins and takes that as praise enough, starts talking about the bands he's got playing till midnight. Then that same DJ Harry hooked him up with a few years back has arranged for “Annie fucking Mac, for fuck’s sake!” to play a set, and apparently that's a big thing.

Liam has no idea, but the others are suitably impressed so he goes along with it. 

He gets his arm around Nialler, pulls him in close as they wander the food vans, because of _course_ that's the first thing Niall wants to show them. “So this was all the secrecy then, you and a bloody festival in Blackpool?”

Niall pulls Liam in close around his waist and Liam can see how big his smile is just by tilting his head a little. “Well, would have looked a right idiot if it hadn't panned out. Had to do a lot of things you probably wouldn't be proud of to get who we've got here tonight, and, well—I just really wanted to do it on my own. Prove that I wasn't that funny Irish lad who dropped out in his last year of college because he was dumb.”

“Never thought you were dumb, Nialler,” Liam says, squeezing Niall's shoulder.

They're quiet for a bit, just taking in the scene of people and food and smells that are spicy and fresh. It's kind of amazing that Nialler did all this. Louis is dancing about in front of them with Harry and Zayn, animatedly telling some story, if his body movements are anything to go by, as well as the wide grin on his face. Liam catches Louis’ eye and he pauses, his grin softening out a little as he waves and then goes back to whatever it was that needed both his hands to explain.

“Think you might be, though,” Niall says with a nod to the scene in front, and Liam feels his face flush, a frown forming instantly.

“What do you mean?”

“It's just—you're in a good place, Li. I'm just saying, be careful.”

Liam drops his arm from around Niall and shoves both his hands into his jean pockets. “There's nothing to be careful about, Niall.”

Niall bumps his shoulder into Liam's. “Maybe you don't want to see it, but I know you. I think I know you better than any of them and I know what it looks like when you’re—”

“I'm not _anything_ , Niall,” Liam interrupts shortly. “I'm just happy to have all my mates here and I'm happy that I get to spend one last proper summer with you all. That's it.”

Niall shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Liam says in return, hating how his stomach has got this knot in it now and he feels all edgy under his skin. He doesn't want Louis like that. Doesn't think that Louis wants him like that, either. Yeah, they've possibly been a bit flirty throughout the week, but Louis has acted the same with each of the boys—even Harry (much to Zayn's failed attempts to pretend like it _doesn't_ get at him, though the nearly purple bruises on Harry's neck say otherwise). They're all playful with each other and maybe Louis has ended up sitting beside Liam a lot and maybe they've shared the sofa to sleep on a few times, but that's because Louis was too drunk to make it upstairs or they passed out playing FIFA or just got to talking and ended up too tired to move. It means nothing. Nothing.

“Come on, Liam! I heard some girl talking about that tent over there having black lights and paints and shit. Let’s go!” Louis bounces around, grabbing at Liam's hand, and Liam ignores the look Niall gives him as they run hand in hand through the crowd.

% % % 

It's bright and dark at the same time when they get inside the tent. The music pulses and it’s a beat that Liam can feel in his chest. The bass spreads out through his body until he is nearly bouncing beside Louis as they scan the tent and people, and Louis' fist pumps in the air before he drags Liam into the fray. 

They end up on the other side of the tent, which is bloody huge, and whoever the girl is who Louis talked to was right. There's a table all lit up with glow sticks and necklaces and spinning things, but most importantly—paint. Louis pays for a tray and the lady with the long dreads directs them with a grin to the side where a few more people are randomly painting their bodies. 

“Will you do me?” Louis asks, and Liam chokes on air because—well, after what Niall hinted at, Louis’ hand in his felt warm before. 

“Sure,” he manages after Louis rolls his eyes at Liam's lack of being able to just breathe. 

They open up the pots and Louis picks up the yellow, hands it to Liam, and points to his cheek. “Here?”

And Liam nods and swallows only because his mouth is dry and they should have got a water at the door before they came in. It's _hot_ in here already and they haven't even started dancing. He's glad that his fingers don't shake when he sticks one into the cool paint, brushing it lightly in even strokes under Louis’ eye and then up around it so he looks like those drawings Rafiki does in The Lion King. 

Louis opens his eyes when Liam stops and just dives straight into the red with his thumb, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he brushes it over Liam's forehead.

“I shall call you Simba!” he says before giggling and Liam can't help but join in. It _is_ ridiculous, but they're fingerpainting on each other's bodies in a crowd that's already done the same, so . . . when in Rome.

They continue on until Louis is satisfied and they leave the paint there amongst all the other pots, the whole table glowing in a mess that would make Jackson Pollock proud. It should feel weird, being here with Louis and having Louis’ hand in his (again) as they make their way out into the crowd until they're somewhat near the middle and Louis drops his hand, moving along to the beat of whatever the DJ is playing. Liam should probably feel bad that they've already alienated themselves from the others this early in the night. Liam just followed Louis and didn't check to see where the others had gone, but when they'd got into the tent no one else was with them so Liam figures they've gone to explore or maybe hear some of the bands that are playing elsewhere. 

They'll meet up with them later. It's not like Liam plans on spending one of the last nights Louis is in town _just_ with Louis. He's going to miss all his friends when they leave on Sunday. All of them.

Louis spins around and wraps his arms around Liam's shoulders, standing up on his tiptoes sohis eyes are level with Liam’s.

And this—this is very close, and Liam can feel every part of Louis pressed up against him and it's okay. It's okay. Friends do this. Friends go out and dance together. And then Louis' mouth is opening and Liam can see this blue tablet on his tongue and—oh.

_Oh._

Not a kiss, then.

Louis closes his mouth and smiles. Liam watches his Adam’s apple bob and then Louis is closer still, mouth against Liam's ear so Liam can feel the whisper of his breath cool on his already heated skin.

“You want?”

And he shouldn't. He shouldn't for a bunch of reasons, topmost being legality and next being his health and who _knows_ who makes these things, and what if he has a bad reaction?

“You don't have to. Niall gave them to me earlier; he knows a guy. Says they're safe.” 

Liam squeezes his hands on Louis’ hips; he didn't even realise that's where they were. He probably put them there to keep Louis steady. Not to keep Louis close. 

“Only if you want to,” Louis says again, and his lips brush the shell of Liam's ear and it sends a shiver down Liam’s spine.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.

But he nods and Louis smiles and smacks a kiss to his cheek before his hand is in front of Liam's face, a new pill on the pad of his outstretched fingers. He smiles as he presses it to Liam's mouth.

“Open up,” he says, and it's probably Liam's imagination that it sounds rough, needy.

Liam does and he doesn't note the chalky taste of the tablet and how it's mixed with the taste of Louis’ skin as Liam's teeth drag over the pad of Louis’ fingertip.

Louis blinks and his mouth drops open and Liam swallows the thing dry—they really should have bought some water.

“How long till it works?” Liam asks. Everything looks the same. Bright lights, choppy-looking movements from the strobe, and Louis' hair reflecting the colours all around. When Louis smiles at him, all teeth and big eyes, he looks predatory, and Liam isn't sure if he should be worried or not.

“You'll know.”

% % %

And Liam _does_ know.

It's been about twenty minutes, or maybe it's an hour or maybe it feels like longer. Time isn't something he has any idea of now. Just Louis and Louis and Louis in front of him and all around and pearly white teeth and tiny hands and bouncing, always bouncing around.

They're back at the table again, Louis declaring they need more war paint, and Liam isn't sure when he or Louis lost their shirts but he can't stop _staring_ at Louis’ chest now. Or his belly. His tiny little round belly that Louis is now holding two of Liam's fingers for because he wouldn't stop poking him there. Poky little belly. Poky puppy. But Louis isn't a puppy. Not when he's in Liam's face and he's smiling all big white teeth as he paints a star on Liam's cheek.

Louis’ eyes are blown right out. Right out. Blacked out. Black and no blue. Like a shark. Louis is a shark. Does that make Liam bait? Or maybe he's a dolphin or something, all sleek and cutting through the water like a hot knife in butter. He shifts his hands through the air and sees sparks of yellows and aqua blues and no, he's a firework just like that Katy Perry song. 

_Shit_.

Liam shakes his head and tries to get the words in order, but then Louis is leaning in and dabbing an orange paint-covered finger to his nose and Liam laughs.

So this is what getting high is _really_ like.

Louis has his wrist now, fingertips circled tight as he paints three blue lines down the inside of Liam's arm from high up, over sensitive skin all slow and sweet. Liam watches carefully and tries to breathe. Breathing is hard here. Here in the water with Louis the shark.

“I'm not a shark, Li,” Louis says as Liam dips his thumb into the blue paint that's sitting on a table just outside where the crowd is writhing together. An endless rainbow of seaweed lolling about on the ocean floor. Or maybe that's just the green and blue strobe lights. Or maybe it's the little blue tablet that Louis gave him before that's making everything so shiny and bright.

He shakes his head again and likes that his hair has grown out enough now that he can actually feel it move. It's not too curly, not like Harry’s, but it's long enough that Louis spiked it up before they came out and that was nice. Louis touching his hair. Right, Louis.

Liam presses the pad of his thumb to the soft skin under Louis’ left eye and drags the paint over Louis skin until he's cupping his cheek and they're both laughing. Louis leans in and their noses press together and Liam was right. Louis' eyes are black now, black like a shark’s.

“I'm not a shark!” Louis says with a grin, snapping his teeth all around Liam's face so he has to blink with each movement, stilling when Louis nips at his jaw.

“Are so!” Liam says, grabbing at Louis' shoulders with both his hands and rubbing the rest of the blue off into Louis' collarbone. It feels nice so he keeps doing it until Louis stops nibbling on his chin and shifts back. Liam laughs so hard his eyes have to close because Louis has a dot of orange paint on _his_ nose now and they match.

They match.

Louis' hands are on his face, and he's a lot closer than before as Liam's eyes blink slowly open. Louis' thumbs brush under Liam’s eyes, too, pulling back to reveal bright pink that he paints over Liam’s lips and then his own.

Match.

“Come on,” he says, and he's got Liam's hand and drags him like he has done all night, back into the tidal wave of people in motion.

They're dancing together again. Like they did when they first came in but with less space now that Liam's feeling too good to care about what it might mean. They're just friends. Just sharks in a pool of people who look as bright and shiny as they are and it's fine. It's fine.

Louis turns and he's got Liam's hand on his hip shifting back and forth and Liam puts his free arm in the air, tugging Louis in closer. He can't let Louis get away. Sharks eat people up and Louis shouldn't be eating anyone. Not anyone but Liam.

Purely because they're friends and that's okay.

What does Bruce say in _Finding Nemo_? Food isn't a friend?

“Friends _aren't_ food, you twat, and I'm still not a shark!” Louis says in Liam's ear, and he must have turned again because they're face to face and he's still got his arm around Louis, curving to the small of his back, and his hands feel big and broad. Or maybe Louis is just small.

“I'm not small!” Louis says, and he bounces up on his toes. “And not a shark.” He smirks, but his teeth are on Liam's neck again and Liam can't do anything but laugh.

His blood is buzzing and his body feels like it's just made of fluid and his best friend is a sea animal and why did he wait so long to try something as _good_ as this?

“Feels good, hmm?” Louis whispers or shouts into Liam's ear and Liam nods, pressing his face down into Louis’ neck. He smells like sweat and tastes rubbery and plastic like the paint. Tastes. Liam knows what Louis tastes like because he's licking at Louis’ neck and that's not right.

“Not right,” he says, and he spins Louis around so he's safe from Liam's tongue. From Liam wanting to do more and it's just the drug that's making him want that. Completely.

Then the music changes and Louis is pressing his bum back into Liam and Liam pulls Louis in close again because it's like wherever they touch, every point blossoms with feeling and it's _good_ and Liam wants more. Wants to feel it everywhere.

Somewhere in the back of his head he can hear Niall's warning about being careful. But he can't remember what he was supposed to be careful of anymore.

Louis turns again and he's just holding onto Liam's arms where they're wrapped around his waist and he's not even looking at Liam. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open a little and he's just so pretty. Pinks, purples and limes coat his face and there's some on his eyelashes now that looks like balls of glowing light when he blinks his eyes open. He just—he looks so good and he smiles and Liam just wants to kiss him. He wants to press his lips to Louis' and see if they feel the same as they once did or if they've changed with the lies he's told and the secrets he keeps behind them. He wants to pull Louis in close, dig in until it’s his fingers that leave bruises of colour that will last for days, not like the paint that will wash away. He wants to feel Louis’ skin against his and he wants to taste and touch and it's too much. It's too much.

“Louis,” is all he gets out before Louis blinks lazily and Liam does just what he shouldn't. Just what he wants to do.

Louis must want it, too, because his grip on Liam's arm shifts up to his biceps and he's _squeezing_ as Liam tilts his head and their lips fit better and Louis’ tongue is a delicious wet drag against Liam's own. He pulls Louis in harder, feels Louis “oof” of air against his lips as Liam's hands slide over Louis' bum and he _squeezes_. Louis just—he feels amazing and Liam is hot and his skin is buzzing, sparking as Louis lets go enough to rub his hands up and over Liam's arms and over his shoulder and back. Louis' fingers scratch up into Liam's hair at the back of his neck and he _pulls_. It makes Liam gasp and then Louis is licking the sound from his mouth, sucking on Liam's tongue.

He was wrong about Louis being a shark. Louis is the incoming tide and Liam is the sand being swallowed whole. The thing is, he wants Louis to have him. Now he's started touching Louis he can't stop; he's got a knee between Louis' legs and Louis is near riding Liam's thigh the instant he shifts it there. Liam groans and Louis bites at his lip, his chin and jaw, and then his lips are locked over Liam's neck and he's _sucking_ so hard maybe he wants to leave semi-permanent marks himself.

“Liam,” Louis says against his ear and again and again and again until Liam feels it like a beat, like the throb of his blood in his veins going directly to his heart.

Louis’ hand tightens in Liam's hair and he's kissing Liam again and Liam's got one hand holding the curve of Louis’ bum, pulling him in, and he can feel where Louis is hard, getting harder as he rocks against Liam's thigh, and Liam is getting off on it, too. Liam's almost forgotten where they are with how focused he is on Louis’ touch and Louis’ taste and how Louis is everywhere on Liam right now. But then there's a tap at his shoulder and all the warmth of Louis is gone.

It's Harry and Zayn and Liam blinks hard because Louis is wrapped around Harry, kissing his lips, and then he blinks again and Louis has his hands on either side of Zayn’s face and he's kissing him, too, and they're all laughing. Laughing and Louis’ mouth is wide and all Liam can see is teeth.

Shark.

Louis is a shark and he's taken his fill of Liam. He's chewed at Liam's insides and all the warmth and heat Liam felt is gone. He's empty and hollow and he disappears into the crowd, lets the hands and arms and bodies of those swaying to the beat push him along until he's lost. He can't breathe and he's got his back against the tent and he's sliding down.

There's a hand on his shoulder and his head snaps up and it's brown eyes looking concerned in a face he doesn't know.

“You all right, mate? You on something?”

Liam nods because he's honest and the man gives him a bottle of water that Liam cracks open and slams down.

He smiles and gives his helpful stranger a thumbs-up when he asks if Liam's okay again and takes the second bottle of water the man offers him, pushing away Liam's hand when he finds a couple of pounds to give to him in payment. Liam shoves them back in his pocket and then when he looks up again he's on his own.

The buzz under his skin has softened now, just this dull, slow feel to his every breath, but it's okay.

It was just the drug. Just the high that made him do all those things with Louis. Had Louis do all those things with Liam. It obviously meant nothing to Louis.

Maybe he should have listened to Niall after all.

% % %

 

Liam wakes in his own bed the next morning.

It's early. The others probably aren't back, at least Liam didn't hear them, but he did pretty much pass out once he got home. He'd texted Zayn that he was going home and figured Zayn wouldn't find it until he was actually _looking_ for Liam, which would be a good few hours with what they were all on and what they were all doing. He’d wandered through the crowds for a bit and found Aiden and Matt—of all people—arguing over a kebab at one of the food vans. When Aiden stalked off, Matt offered to drive Liam home. From what Liam had heard through his mum, those two were still as on again –off again as they had been when Liam had worked at the restaurant. 

Liam had always liked Matt; he was never one for questions. When they piled into Matt's old van he just flicked the radio on and that was that. A few reminders of where to turn and Liam was home and falling face-first into his bed quicker than he actually anticipated.

Now the sun is streaming in through the open window and his face feels like his skin has shrunk tight to his bones. He stands up and gets out of last night’s jeans and pants, tugs on his usual running attire and double knots his trainers—even if leaning down that far makes him feel like his brain actually _is_ pressing against the front of his skull. He walks down the stairs carefully, skirting the creaky one, and comes to a standstill when he reaches the entryway to the living room. 

He hadn't given much through to the rest of the lads once he'd got home. Tried really hard to keep Louis and what they'd done together out of his mind, and he _definitely_ didn't think about Niall's advice. That he probably should have listened to. No, all the pain he caused himself the night before was entirely his own fault. He knew what he was like around Louis. No matter how many years apart or kisses they gave other people would ever change that. He loved Louis. Probably always would. Even if Louis didn't return the sentiment. It was just something Liam had to get over and he only had one day left with Louis. One more day together being mates and then maybe they could slide into the phone calls and emails type of relationship that steadily dropped off until they were just a memory and a tale to tell to future boyfriends about first loves.

But when Liam looks at the pile his mates make on the living room floor he wonders if that'll even be possible. Niall is lying on his back on the coffee table, of all things. Harry is on the floor with one arm wrapped around Louis' stomach and the other above his head, fingertips just touching Zayn's where he's half on the sofa, half on the floor in a position that _only_ Zayn, who can sleep just about anywhere, could be in. And Louis. Louis is just curled in on himself and he looks so peaceful, and every time he breathes out his fringe tussles with the movement and he still has paint on his face and what looks like Liam's thumbprints on the curve of his neck and—

Liam walks backward, goes out the kitchen door and starts off on his morning jog—just like every day. Routine. That's what he needs. The slap of his feet on the ground, the quiet of the early morning, and his brain focusing simply on one foot in front of the other and missing the cracks in the pavement. That's all.

He takes the long route back to the house, waving as people start appearing outside their homes and wondering why their faces look a little less friendly and more concerned until he remembers—he never washed the paint off the night before. 

He'd probably look at himself funny if he was them, too.

Liam feels tons better when he runs up the drive to the house. Harry's car is gone and Liam doesn’t think much about it until after he's toed off his shoes and headed inside. The living room is bare, looks like the boys weren’t even there, and Liam thinks maybe he’s still a little affected by that blue pill. Maybe the lads didn't even get home yet.

Which is good because Liam is stinking of sweat from his run and he's actually itchy now where the paint is caked to his skin. He showers and keeps the water cool because as the paint washes away there are marks on his hips and on his arms that don’t fade when he scrubs his hands over them with his shower gel. They're purple and dark green and some are vague and most are in fingerprints and Liam—he can't. He won't let himself think about how Louis made them or how Louis’ body will be littered with those and more because Liam always liked to hold Louis _tight_. It sucks the air from his lungs when he steps out and looks in the mirror to find bite marks blooming in reds and more vibrant hues, especially one that surrounds his birthmark and when he presses his fingers to it it hurts. It's a good hurt, though, reminds Liam of what he can't have. What he shouldn't have even let himself think about having last night, even if it was with the aid of chemical enhancement. 

He stands there for a while, letting the water roll off his skin and make a puddle on the floor, and just looks at the traces of Louis on his skin. In a few days they'll be gone and Louis will be just like them. A memory. It makes something tighten in Liam's chest. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he can't just let it go and maybe he's never going to get over Louis no matter how far apart they are or if they never talk again. Louis will always own this part of Liam and Liam will always wish that Louis had wanted him more.

Liam wraps a towel around his waist and uses another to rub at his head as he walks back to his room. It's quiet—there's not a sound in the house—so if he's a bit surprised to find Louis sitting on his bed when he walks in the open door, then he's allowed to be.

“Louis?” Liam says after what feels like eons of standing there and taking in Louis cradling his head in his hands, fingers threaded into his hair and in the same clothes he wore the night before—even the shirt. Liam hadn't found his own after they lost them somewhere in the dance tent.

Louis nearly jumps at the sound of Liam saying his name. His hands hit his lap and his eyes go wide and Liam's never felt so self conscious in his life. Liam doesn't think about clothing and how he's still sort of wet and in just a _towel_ for long, because he looks at Louis properly and notes how red his eyes are. 

And not red from whatever else they all did last night after Liam left. Not red from lack of sleep, but there are tears rolling down his cheeks. and Liam is in front of Louis, on his knees and murmuring _shh_ as he grabs at Louis’ hands and holds them in his.

“Lou—Lou, what's wrong?” he asks, because _fuck_ if he's ever seen Louis so—so _sad_. 

Louis shakes his head and bites his lip hard, the pink turning white under his teeth, and he's staring at where Liam's hands are covering his. 

“Louis.” Liam says his name again and squeezes while Louis' eyes shut, squeezed tight, and more tears roll out from under his dark lashes. His lips are moving now, but Liam can't hear what he's saying until he lets go of one of Louis' hands, using his thumb to brush away the wetness on Louis' cheeks. This sob tears itself from Louis' chest and Louis' eyes look even more blue with all the red spidery veins surrounding them. 

“Sorry, I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over in between sobs, and he looks like he's lost in whatever it is that he's sorry for.

“Lou,” Liam tries, his hand sliding down to the base of Louis' neck. There's an actual snot bubble at on Louis' nose now that keeps moving in and out, and it's gross but Liam can't worry about that when he just wants to know what is making Louis so upset.

“Louis, what are you sorry for? What's going on?”

“You,” Louis gets out, taking this deep shuddering breath. “You—I'm sorry, and you—you're in a towel Liam, a _towel!_ ” Louis says loudly, and Liam's face heats up. 

Liam goes to get up but then Louis' hands are on his shoulders, pushing him down to keep him in place. Louis closes his eyes and takes this big breath and he's just _looking_ at Liam with his red-rimmed eyes and that stupid snot bubble and Liam can't look away. Louis looks so serious, just staring at Liam while his breathing evens out and his eyes stay glassy, but there aren't tears any more. 

He licks his lips and Liam's just about to offer to at the very least put some pants on before Louis says whatever it is that he needs to say, when Louis starts.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry about so many things, Liam,” he says, and his fingers press into Liam's skin, echoing how Liam's knees ache from being knelt on for so long. 

“It's okay—” Liam starts, but he stops when Louis interrupts.

“No, it's not. I owe you so much. I owe you an explanation for so many things and I just—this last week, being here with the lads and you—and you,” he repeats softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I never thought you'd let me back in your life, you know? After what I did. What I did to you.”

Liam opens his mouth but Louis continues.

“I'm sorry about last night. About kissing you and making you leave. And I'm sorry about bringing Eleanor here the last time and I'm sorry I ignored you. I'm sorry about the year I didn't come and I'm sorry most of all for the summer before that.” 

Liam's stomach turns and he feels ice-cold. He knows exactly what Louis is referring to: the summer when everything changed between them. 

“I'm not,” Liam says, his voice as even as he can hope for it to be considering how his insides feel like they're being clawed apart with each of Louis' words. “I loved that summer.”

Louis blinks and sniffles and Liam just wants to go, to get away from whatever it is that Louis thinks, using Liam like some sort of priest to rid Louis of his sins. He can't, though, not with Louis’ hold on his shoulders that feel heavy with the weight of Louis’ confessions already. Not with Louis looking at him the way he is, and yeah, maybe it's time to finally say all the things they've kept hidden behind smiles and looks alone.

Maybe it's time for honesty, and Liam thinks he can do this. He can be honest and get it all out in the open because Louis is leaving today and this might be the only time Liam will ever get to say his part.

Which is why it surprises him when Louis gets in first.

“That's why I'm sorry. I ruined the best summer of my life because I was scared. Too scared of everything that happened and what it meant. Too scared of what it changed with us, and I was scared of you.” 

Liam's cheeks heat further and he feels Louis’ words like a punch in the chest. 

“Scared of me?” 

Louis nods and the bubble of snot is back at his nostril again, all distracting and Liam wishes he'd just suck it up or let Liam get him a tissue. But Louis' nails are pressing into Liam's shoulders, so he's not going anywhere just yet. 

“I was. I still am scared of what I feel for you.” And the bottom drops out of Liam's entire world with that, with what Louis says and with the pause after it. “Do you know what it's like to find your soul mate when you're seventeen? The one person who knows you better than anyone else, who you can't imagine _not_ having in your life? Who you'd give anything for, anything at all if it meant them being happy? Even forcing yourself to leave them because you couldn't be what they wanted, purely because you were so scared about how you felt?” 

Liam laughs and shakes his head. “So you left me, ignored me because you were frightened about the way you felt? Did you even think about how it was for me? Falling in love with you was the biggest thing to happen to me and it happened three years before you caught up. I loved you, Louis. I fell so hard, and summers were the only time I had you—and when you finally got there and we were on the same page you ripped it all away again and it hurt. I don't even think you realise how much you _hurt_ me.”

Louis goes to apologise again but Liam cuts him off. He can't hear that word any more. “You didn't even call. You just cut me out of your life like I had never even been a part of it. And then you brought _her_ here and it was worse than not having you at all.” Liam stops because there's a thudding in his chest now, this weak noise where his plastered-up heart has beat normally for the past three years only to start crumbling apart now. “I get it. I mean, I didn't for a while, but I eventually realised that maybe loving me more than just a friend was too hard for you, and maybe even having me as a friend was worse than that. But then you turn up here. You smile at me the way you used to and you touch me the way I've missed and now you’re sorry?”

Louis nods. “I am. I'm so fucking sorry and I can't—I can't pretend any more. I’ve spent too long hiding from what I felt for you and what it meant for me, and I can't. I went home after leaving you that last time and I tried to keep being this person that I thought my mum wanted me to be, that everyone wanted me to be, and I let myself ask El to move in and I could see it, this life ahead of me with her or someone like her by my side—this stand-in for you—and I couldn't do it any more. I broke it off and I ran for a bit. I went to London and I lived in this shitty flat and got a job at a bar and I finally started figuring out who I was. Who I am.”

Liam's throat is tight and he can't swallow properly because it feels like this is headed somewhere. Louis' saying all the things Liam's wanted to hear for so long now, but it feels like he's leaving something out. He shifts his thumb on Louis’ skin, brushing at the top of his collarbone, and Louis smiles a little, leaning into Liam's touch and it f  
eels right. Feels like things falling into place and Liam doesn't want it to feel like hope even if it does.

“I love you so much, Liam. I've always loved you and I probably always _will_ love you. I know I hurt you, I've hurt you over and over again even when I thought what I was doing would be the opposite of that. I'm not asking for anything because I shouldn't, I have no right—” 

“You don't, but I love you, too. I never stopped,” Liam chokes out, and then he's got an armful of Louis as he falls forward and they topple back onto the carpet. 

Louis is pressing kisses all over his face and there's probably snot and tears, too, because he's crying again and Liam might be, too, because this.

This is a feeling without a label.

This is Liam finally stilling Louis' face long enough to press his lips to Louis' and taste the salt of his tears and all that is Louis on his tongue as they laugh and kiss, and it's like Liam's body finally feels _right_. Like the heaviness he never actually knew was there is lifted, and even with Louis lying on top of him he feels like he could fly.

“Are you scared any more?” he asks when Louis is just grinning down at him, perched up high with his hands pressed to Liam's chest.

Louis looks at him with those eyes so blue and he doesn't blink, doesn't hesitate to say no.

“Good, because I'm fucking in love with you, Louis Tomlinson, and I won't let you run away from me again.”

Louis smiles and it's one that crinkles his eyes and makes it impossible for them to kiss, lips just grazing each others as he whispers “I love you” over and over and Liam thinks he'll never get enough of hearing it, of saying it in return.

They press these words into each other’s skin. Liam's towel comes undone as quick as Louis' fingertips rake down Liam's side, tickling over his ribs. Liam's hands slide up Louis’ sides, pulling his shirt up as he goes until Louis has to lift up, straddling Liam's thighs while he rips the thing off, flinging it somewhere to the side. Liam just drinks in Louis’ body, this perfect boy he has loved for so long and finally gets to touch like he thought he'd never do again. He's all endless sunkissed skin and little curls of hair on his chest where Liam can't remember there being any before. There are words on the inside of his arm that Liam's not seen before and he wants to read them with his tongue like they're braille. He wants to do so much, so much, and with the way Louis is looking back at him, he's not the only one. Louis stares down at him and he's smiling. He looks—he looks like someone Liam wants to kiss forever. Liam reaches up and his palm fits neatly around the back of Louis’ neck as he pulls him down close.

“Hi,” Louis says, their noses bumping together as he brushes his hands back and forth over Liam's shoulders.

“Hi.” Liam grins and fits his lips to Louis', feels Louis moan like he can't keep the sound in, and Liam rolls them over and Louis flicks the towel to the side somewhere and they should probably get off the floor—the bed is _right_ there—but it's too soon for that, too soon to be apart from Louis any longer than he needs to be. Louis must think the same from the way he hasn't tried to move either, content to lie under Liam and let his hands slide over Liam's near-dry skin. Affirmations are bitten into tender skin—the space under Louis’ heart, the curve of his left bicep, the plush round of Louis’ belly that Liam blows a raspberry against and Louis' heel thumps into Liam's calf and they laugh. Louis’ fingers trail patterns over Liam's shoulders and his nails leave half-moon crescents over Liam's shoulderblades when Liam _breathes_ over where he just licked a line from Louis' hip bone down to the fly of his jean shorts. 

Liam sits back on his knees and Louis runs his hands over Liam's skin, over his chest and tweaks at his nipples, over his arms and squeezes the muscle there tight and Liam' is _never_ going to get Louis undressed if he keeps up with all the _touching_. He tells Louis as much.

Louis just grins and folds his hands under his head. “Okay, then,” and he smirks and Liam has to lean in and kiss it off because Louis can't look at him like _that_ , either. Eventually Liam's fingers finally get Louis' fly undone. He kisses down Louis' chest, open-mouthed and breathy as he pulls Louis’ pants down, too. Louis’ cock slaps at his stomach, already hard. Liam has to get a hold of himself when Louis takes over, pulling his legs up to his chest and ripping off the last of the material between them and then they're naked. Liam leans in, squeezing his cock at the base before he has to let go, bracing himself above Louis with a hand on either side of his shoulders. 

“Hi,” Liam says again, eyelashes fluttering when his cock brushes up against Louis' hip as Louis shifts his legs open wider. 

Louis gasps, his teeth catching on his bottom lip before he answers with a “Hi” of his own.

“I love you,” Liam says, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the round of Louis' cheek.

“Love you, too,” Louis says in return, his hands sliding up and down Liam's ribs like he's feeling Liam breathe. Feeling Liam say the words that maybe Louis needs to hear, too. “Love you so—” is all Louis gets out before Liam's kissing him again, licking the words from his mouth and sucking them from his tongue as Louis' fingertips trace them the same over Liam's skin. Louis’ thigh brushes against Liam's waist as he shifts his legs wider. Liam's hips rock slowly but with purpose as he bites down a groan the moment his dick brushes against Louis'.

Louis whispers a curse against Liam's neck and slips a hand between them, and Liam nearly shudders to a standstill when his hand fits around both their cocks, pressing them together, but every time Liam moves they slide apart. Liam shifts up, leans on one hand while licking thick stripes over the other, watching Louis lick at his lips while he does it. Then he's knocking Louis' hand out of the road and getting a better grip, the slow glide of skin against skin made even better by Liam's ability to hold them both and by the slick of saliva on his hand. Louis’ head tips back and his eyes flutter closed and Liam just watches, his breath coming in these little huffs as he works them both in his fist. His whole body is tingling from where Louis has touched and felt and this is just—this is more. This is Liam soaking up every soft sound that has Louis' Adam's apple bobbing up and down, has Liam leaning in again to nip at his skin and make new marks where the others haven't even had a chance to fade from the night before. This is Liam pressing his forehead to Louis’ chest, looking down at the way Louis' stomach muscles twitch and how _good_ Louis looks in his hand. Precome is leaking from both of their dicks, burbling up, and every pass of Liam's thumb over their slits slides it down and they _fit_ together so well.

“Fuck, Liam. Can you—can we?” and Liam nods because he can feel it. Feel how close he is to coming like this and it would be enough, would definitely be enough because they have time now. They have longer than a night or a summer. Well—that's what Liam hopes. He leans up and captures Louis' puffy pink bottom lip with his own, tugging at the bruised skin as he shifts his hand and it's just Louis in his fist now. Louis bucks up into his touch and Liam forgets about how close he was, too, because he needs this. Needs to see Louis lose it before anything else happens. Liam's thumb slides against the thick vein underneath and Louis keens, his head smacking against the floor as his foot thumps the ground at the same time. Liam does it again on the upstroke and tugs back Louis' foreskin, rubbing his finger just inside at the sensitive head, and Louis' dick kicks in his hand. His body arches up into Liam's and Liam kisses him hard, working him through it as Louis' come slips over his knuckles and Louis pushes at Liam's chest, too sensitive to be touched. 

“Fuck,” Louis says again when Liam can't hide his smile at having got Louis off first. He presses his face into Louis’ neck but Louis isn't having any of that. He's got his hands on either side of Liam's face, fingertips sliding into Liam's hair as he pulls him up, fits their lips together. It's sloppy and Liam can feel spit on his chin but he doesn't care. Then Louis’ hand is on his chest and pushing and Liam wonders where his strength is coming from because seconds ago he was too weak to do much more than let Liam guide their kiss. 

“Up, up.” Louis pushes and speaks against Liam's lips, his teeth knocking against Liam's. 

“Why?” Liam asks, nipping at Louis' jaw, the bristles of his nightly growth rasping at Liam's skin. It should feel bad but Liam's kissed Louis so much now it's like his lips are numb. Everything feels sort of numb in that way your body gets after pins and needles have set in and then it's like your muscles turn to sparklers burning and shooting off stars under your skin. It's good, it's better than any high any drug could give, and this was just getting Louis _off_.

“I want you to fuck me and I refuse to do this on the floor. I love you, Liam—” and Liam blushes as Louis doesn't even stumble over the words— “but I get rugburn for no one.” 

Liam snorts and Louis pushes at his chest again so he gives in, stands up and is about to give Louis his hand to help when he can't because Louis is already on his knees. His mouth wraps around Liam's dick and it's all Liam can to keep still as his knees go weak. Louis is looking up at him, lips stretched thin and sucking Liam in, and maybe he's sucking Liam's brains out, too, because it feels too good. The tension that was building at the base of his spine before is back and Louis hums and Liam nearly loses it between the blue of Louis’ eyes and the obscene sounds he's making as he sucks Liam off. He cups Louis' cheek, rubs his thumb in the hollow made when Louis sucks hard and—

“Lou, stop. I'm—” and he can't get any more out. Luckily Louis understands. He pulls off with a wet pop and there's this line of precome and spit that connects his lips to Liam's dick that he scrubs off with the back of his hand. Liam tugs him up, his hands fitting under Louis' arms, and lets his hands settle on Louis’ hips. Their bodies press close as he tastes himself on Louis’ tongue. Louis steps them sideways like crabs until they fall onto the bed and he breaks off, crawling up the bed as Liam gets a hold of himself because Louis looks so beautiful. His fringe is damp with sweat, skin covered in a light sheen of it, and his lips—his lips are red and so are his cheeks and his eyes are just so bright and blue and Liam thinks he's never seen Louis look better than he does now. Louis' cock's already showing interest, lying against his hip only to be hidden by Louis’ arm as he slides one leg up the bed, knee bent and his hand going down and— _fuck_.

“Jesus, Louis,” Liam stutters out, his voice rough and low because Louis is _fingering_ himself on Liam's childhood bed. Louis' lips are trembling on every exhale and Liam can't let him do this. Can't let him be the one to touch himself while Liam is hard, and Louis did mention something about fucking. It's like Louis needs to feel Liam inside of him, wants him there just as much as Liam wants it. Liam reaches around Louis, hand digging into the second drawer beside the bed, and finds the bottle of lube that hasn't been used in this house since . . . well, since Harry and Liam were a thing, but that doesn't warrant thinking about now. Not now as he finds a condom, too, and Louis is tugging him back with his free hand in Liam's hair, just pulling. He smiles against Liam's lips as Liam groans, feels his cock kick against his stomach and he's got to be leaking onto the sheets and Louis himself after that. 

“Still like that,” Louis says, lips on Liam's neck and travelling up. Liam can barely nod, barely make the word “Yes” that falls from his tongue.

“Come on,” Louis whispers against Liam's ear, teeth grazing the lobe. Liam groans, sits back on his knees while he rips open the condom only to nearly falter when he catches sight of Louis with three fingers inside himself now. His hips are shifting back and forth as he fucks himself on them and that's . . . that's a little too much even for Liam.

He rolls the condom on quickly and slicks himself up before squirting it—horrible splurging sounds and all—over where Louis' fingers are tucked in tight inside himself. Louis throws his hand out to the side, fisting into the sheets after blindly groping for a bit, and he's just—he's so beautiful like this, his chest pinking up, dick fattening faster than Liam would have thought it could. He can't help letting his fingers trace Louis' length, and Louis shivers and stills for a second. 

“You're getting hard already,” Liam says, not really covering the disbelief in his tone.

Louis chokes on a moan, failing to keep it at bay as Liam's fingers graze his dick again and Louis bucks up into Liam's light touch. “Shouldn't be.” he licks at his lips and Liam bites at his own, jealous almost of Louis tasting his own skin when it should be Liam. “Wanked off enough this week to thoughts of you, should be nothing left, _oh fuck,_ Liam, _please_ ,” he finishes, reaching out and grabbing at Liam's knee, his touch hot on Liam's skin. 

“Yeah,” Liam chokes on the word, shifting up further between Louis’ legs and tugging Louis’ hand until he pulls his fingers out with a huff. Louis’ hole is shiny with slick and puffy red and Liam thinks about putting his mouth there for a moment, but then Louis has his leg wrapped around Liam's waist and his heel pressing in and, right. Right.

Liam strokes himself a few times, but it's merely a precursor because Louis is looking at him and his mouth opens, probably to tell Liam to hurry up again. Louis ends up biting the words back as Liam slides in. In and in and it's one long, slow push with Louis' eyes locked on Liam's until he can't go in any further.

Louis is tight and hot and he's just shaking, looking up at Liam as Liam tries to find something to think about that won't make him come right now from the feel of this alone. He finds Louis’ lips instead, bending in close, and Louis pulls his legs up, wrapping them around Liam's waist as they breathe against each other. Just these soft sounds of air moving between them until with one hand on Louis' side, flush against his ribs Liam feels Louis breathe out and it's different from the rest because it's like all the tension is gone from his body and Liam finally lets himself _move._

Liam fucks into Louis slow and sweet, memorising the feel of Louis around him, underneath him, and his tongue as it slides into Liam's mouth. He surges against Louis and it feels like it did the night before. This ocean of feeling being pushed and pulled between them as Louis pushes up and Liam pulls back only to be dragged back in again with Louis' heel on the small of his back and Louis’ hand in his hair, fingers tight against his scalp. He licks and tastes Louis’ skin, the sweat that's pooling in the dip at the bottom of his throat, swirls his tongue around Louis’ nipples and remembers how sensitive Louis is there when he arches up hard against Liam. 

And Louis is hard in other places, too. Liam's hand slides between them and he's got Louis' cock in a soft grip, just a loose fist so Louis can fuck up into the space while Liam fucks into him. He's already on edge, just waiting for something to set him off. Everything in his body is pulled taut because he's fucking Louis and Louis is whimpering, mumbling these words into any part of Liam he can get to or to the air that exists between them, and it's only when he has his lips against Liam's ear again that Liam can make it out.

“Fucking love you, love you so much, love you, Liam. Love you, love you,” and that's it. That's all it takes for Liam to shift into overdrive. Slow isn't enough anymore. He's got his hands on Louis' thighs, sliding them up until his thumbs are under Louis’ knees and he's pushing Louis' legs back until he's got Louis’ ankles on his shoulders. Louis' eyes roll back and Liam thinks he tells him he loves him, thinks that he says Louis’ name, but he's just too busy with how everything feels. How Louis' cock is jerking in his fist and he must be riding the thin line of pleasurable pain right there, but he hasn't knocked Liam away yet.

“Can you come?” Liam grunts, his lips pressed to the corner of Louis’. “Can you come again like this?”

Louis doesn't answer, just nods and moans and grips Liam's hips harder. Liam has to move because his knees are ready to give out and he pulls Louis up higher into his lap; it must be enough because two thrusts later Louis is coming again, these dribbles over Liam's hand but he's clenching around Liam hard and Liam can't breathe as his vision blurs and a few thrusts later he's coming, too, and collapsing on top of Louis, unable to feel any part of his body at all.

He tries to remember how to breathe and Louis' chest moves against his cheek, all sticky with sweat and he really should pull out and get rid of the condom. He can't really remember how to move his body, let alone his hands, at the moment, so staying where he is wins.

He does feel Louis’ hand on his shoulder, light strokes over his skin and then nails brushing over his scalp, fingers carding through his hair, and then his hearing comes back enough that he can make out Louis saying his name, a rumble in his chest echoing against Liam's ear. 

Liam raises his head enough that he can see Louis has his eyes open, too. His fringe is matted against his forehead but he's smiling. 

“Hi,” he says, and Liam smiles back.

“I think we've said that before.”

“We have,” and Louis looks at him with a raised brow. 

Liam huffs but answers, “Hi,” with what he hoped would be sort of sarcasm but comes out a lot fonder than it should.

“Is this going to become a thing?” he asks, and he means the words; but when Louis blinks and for a fraction of a second Liam can see something like fear cross his face, he knows Louis is thinking something else entirely.

“Because I wouldn't mind if it did,” Liam adds softly. His heart is beating fast and it's bringing back the here and now faster than he wanted. Basking in the afterglow becomes a short-lived thing with what he chose to say. 

“I would—I'd like that. If you want that,” Louis says, and god, it's as honest as they've ever been and it makes Liam want to kiss Louis. Kiss him because he can and because Louis wants him and because. Just because.

“Love you,” Liam says as an answer, and Louis’ smile lights up his face.

“Love you.”

Liam _does_ kiss Louis then. Just a soft brush of lips on lips because he's too tired for anything else. And that’s the way they fall asleep, curled up against each other after Liam's pulled out and looked around the room for somewhere to put the thing and Louis laughs as Liam makes a dash to the bathroom to get a cloth to clean them up. Liam pouts on his return, saying that he could have got caught by any of their friends, and Louis has to admit he got them to leave for the day because he hoped either he and Liam would talk it out or they'd be—well, like this.

Liam could make a remark about being presumptuous and he could have said that they really hadn't talked enough, but Louis was in his bed and Louis had said he loved him and he'd just had sex with the boy he thought he'd only have for one summer. And maybe this summer has been better than all the others and maybe it's just the start. 

 

-fin-


End file.
